


The New World

by DisaLanglois



Series: Raptors in the Rainforest [3]
Category: Jurassic Park Series - Michael Crichton, Jurassic World - Fandom, jurassic - Fandom
Genre: Animal Intelligence, Binary civilization fic, Colombia - Freeform, Dubious Science, Firefighters, Gen, Intelligent dinosaurs, Interspecies Relationship(s), Needs More Dinosaurs!, Pack Bonding, People get chomped, Plotty, Symbiotic Relationship, Velociraptors, Wildfires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 128,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisaLanglois/pseuds/DisaLanglois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Dinosaurs and man, two species separated by 65 million years of evolution, have just been thrown back into the mix together. How can we possibly have the slightest idea what to expect?” </em> - Alan Grant</p><p>The rumours are all true!  Some velociraptors <em>did</em> escape from Jurassic Park 20 years ago, and Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm are on a mission to find them.  When they reach the tiny town of San Judas Tadeo, deep in the Amazon rainforest, Owen Grady realizes that this is a chance for the velociraptor pack to make some powerful friends - <em>if</em> he can show Grant and Malcolm  that raptors are not the monsters they thought they were. </p><p>The raptors are ready to face the world, but there are enemies circling.  A new world is hanging in the balance – but no-one ever changes the world without a fight …   </p><p>Complete!  Part three of a trilogy, and Plotty McPlot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically RPF, although not really Fiction because this literally is what Graham Norton does every week.

#### January, 2019. 

#### London.

The Green Room wasn’t actually green. 

This was surprising to Owen, although he tried not to show his naïveté.

The Green Room wasn’t green.  It was a comfortable waiting room behind the studio, with comfortable seats and a small bar.  The furniture had all been pushed to the sides of the walls, as if the show’s crew weren’t exactly sure how big StripeSide was, and decided to err on the side of Copper.  The thermostat had been turned high to keep StripeSide comfortable.  They’d been left alone for a few minutes while the other guests were introduced. 

StripeSide was pacing back and forth snarling, which Owen had explained to the backstage crew was normal, and not a sign of aggression.  She looked magnificent.  Her blue-and-white stripe, running from the orbit of her eyes almost to the tip of her tail, gleamed as if she’d been painted.  She was in the prime of her life; strong and healthy and confident.  She looked considerably more at ease than Owen felt.    

He could hear the sounds from the stage in the distance.  He’d always assumed that talk shows happened in real time, one scene after another, like a stage play.  He’d discovered that they were filmed in short sets over the afternoon, and then edited together.  The musical number had finished practicing their piece some time ago.  The host had done his little comedic skit, introducing his guests.  The other guests had left the Green Room, and were out there right now. 

 _“Now actually I’m_ not _the first person to interview a dinosaur,”_ the perky Irishman said. _“No-_ oo. _In fact some of_ those _dinosaurs have already had far too much screen time already, hmm?”_ There was a burst of laughter from the audience, and Owen had wondered whose picture was showing on the screen. 

Any minute now, and it would be Owen’s turn.  Any minute now, and Owen would be out there, in front of the cameras, in front of the audience, beamed out to the entire world. 

<Calm,> StripeSide signed, as she paced back and forth.  Her long talons rose and fell in the sweeping movements of Raptor Sign.  <Calm, calm, calm.  All is well.>   

<You have nothing to worry about,> Owen signed back to her. 

She hissed at him, her teeth bared, her long tongue raised.  <Not me!> she signed; her verbal message a contrast to her fierce snarl.  <I am calm!  You are anxious.>

Living with a raptor was like being followed around by your own walking talking MRI.  He didn’t know how she could tell he was anxious, but he couldn’t lie to her. 

<I am anxious,> he admitted.  <This is not like anything else we have done together.>

She turned in her pacing, her tail swinging wide.  <Worry, not.  It is only an audience.  We have seen audiences before.>

<Not like this.> 

Owen had never been on TV before.  Well, he had been on TV before, technically, but he’d never gone out in front of a live audience.  Well, no, actually,  he had spoken to a live audience before – even though some of the old stiffs at the UN Security Council hadn’t looked very alive.  He’d been followed around by journalists and security-wonks ever since the velociraptors first appeared on international news TV.   He was used to being the spotlight of the world’s stage. 

But _this_ – this was qualitatively _different._   _This_ was not CNN.  _This_ was one of the most popular talk shows in the world.  This was going to be beamed out to millions of people who _didn’t_ watch the news, didn’t follow politics, and didn’t understand the Inter Species Mutual Aid Agreement.  Owen had been interviewed and filmed and photographed – but all of it had always been deadly serious. 

This was _worse_ than serious.  Serious was easy.  Today, he would have to be _funny._  

Oh God.  Oh, God.  _Now_ he understood why it was called the Green Room. 

He didn’t know how to be funny.  He would have to be charming, and playful, and spontaneous, and he didn’t know how.  He was going to look dumb, and dumpy.  He had just been in the right place at the right time when the world changed, and he’d  been frantically skating to catch up ever since, and now the world would see it.  Or – _even worse!_ – he would think he was being funny, and not realize until it was too late that he was actually looking puerile. 

<Worry, not!> StripeSide commanded, signing sharply. Her large golden eyes were fixed on Owen. 

<I worry not,> he replied. 

It was all very well for StripeSide not to be worried.  It didn’t bother _her_ that she didn’t know how to be funny!  Dinosaurs didn’t _have_ a sense of humour.  She understood laughing as a strange human bonding behaviour _,_ but she had no concept of what was _funny._  

Why the hell had StripeSide chosen _this_ show, of all shows?  She’d been interviewed before, but this was her first ever talk-show.   Owen had picked out a selection of shows for her to watch and pick one.   She could have chosen the Daily Show.  She could have chosen Larry King, or Jimmy Fallon, or even _Oprah,_ who had offered to come out of retirement for the prestige of being the first talk-show host to interview a dinosaur. 

But no.  StripeSide had picked _this_ one.  She’d picked the one where _Owen_ would have to be funny, instead of merely translating for her!  Why?  Why _this_ one? 

<Worry, not!>  StripeSide hissed at him.  <Drink some alcohol, that always soothes away your anxieties.>

Owen looked at the bar, and shook his head.  Putting alcohol into his stomach right now, and the stage too might turn as green as the Green Room.  <It will make me feel unhealthy.> 

<As you wish.>  She turned away.   <This is not a fight.  There is nothing here to worry about.> 

But right now, Owen did not share her confidence.  This time, she’d pushed her luck too far.  This time, StripeSide had bitten off more than she could handle.  Owen didn’t know how to be funny, and this was going to be a disaster. 

<Worry not!> StripeSide said to him. 

She snapped her head to face the door, just before it opened. 

Lowery Cruthers came into the room, with the host’s assistant right behind him. 

“Aw, man,” Lowery crooned, looking at Owen’s face.  “You’re working yourself into a muck-sweat, aren’t you?” 

“Five minutes,” the assistant said.  “You all right for a final check-up, love?”

“Yeah,” Owen said.  He turned to StripeSide.  <It is time,> he signed. 

<Worry, not!> she commanded strictly. 

He submitted to a final check of his clothes, and held his face still as the make-up artist patted at his face.   StripeSide had no make-up to check – although she’d asked Owen to paint equine hoof polish onto her talons and claws last night.  She might disdain SnailEater’s vanity, but she wasn’t above using his tricks.  Her talons gleamed like ebony.   

“You talked to the UN,” Lowery said, looking at Owen’s face.  “How can you still be nervous?” 

“That’s what _she_ said,” Owen nodded to StripeSide, who was watching critically as the make-up artist touched her human’s face. 

“She’s right,” Lowery said.  “Just chillax, man.  If you act like a stress-princess, you’ll come across as arrogant on screen.”

“Arrogant?  Oh, God, no.” 

“Just relax.  You’ve got this.” 

“You and WingWatch should be doing this,” Owen said to Lowery.  WingWatch had looked at the sleeting London weather this morning, and declared that her sister would have to fight this battle without her.  “You and WingWatch are legit funny together.” 

“The world doesn’t want to _see_ me and WingWatch, man,” Lowery said.  _“She’s_ the queen.  She’s the one they’ve all seen on TV signing the treaty with the Secretary-General!  You just have to stand there and make her look good.” 

“Oh, God,” Owen said. 

“Naah, man.  She knows what she’s doing.  In case you haven't noticed, she's smarter than you are! Just chillax. You’ve got this.” 

“Yeah.  I’ve got this.  I can handle this.”  Owen held still, as the make-up artist gave him another dab of powder to mop up his sweat.  He inhaled sharply.  “I can do this.  Phew.  Okay.  Let’s go.” 

“Okay, love, you’re good to go.”  The make-up artist stepped back.  “Break a leg!” 

Owen and StripeSide were ushered to just behind the stage backdrop.  Owen could see the lights spilling around the corners of the backdrop, he could hear the show’s host doing his introduction.    

_“Let’s get our next guests on!”_

The assistant signed to Owen, counting down with her fingers. 

Owen inhaled.  He was committed to his course.  His whole life had changed the first time a velociraptor picked up a piece of wood and tried to write on it.  Everything since then was just following-through on that one singular moment.  He was going to do this, he told himself.  He _had_ to do this. 

The plan was for Owen to go out first, followed by StripeSide.  Owen would explain for the audience’s benefit about the whiteboard and Raptor Sign – as if the world didn’t already know – and then he was going to turn around and sign to StripeSide to come out.  It would be TV history, Maggie Montroe had promised. 

Graham Norton was a perky Irishman with a close trimmed beard, in a flamboyant suit, and flamboyant manners to match.  He’d bounced eagerly when he’d first met StripeSide this afternoon, and tried to shake her hand before Owen could stop him.  Right now he sounded so hyperactive he was almost frenzied. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” he was exclaiming, to general applause.  Owen couldn’t see him, but he could almost feel him bouncing up and down with enthusiasm.  “ _She_  is the world’s most famous dinosaur – the first non-human ever to address the United Nations!  And _he’s_ the man who brought the raptors out into the world.  And together they’re the world’s first ever legally recognised hetero-species partnership.  Let’s give a big hand for Owen Grady, and StripeSide!” 

The first hetero-species partnership – _oh, God, no!_  

No matter how many times Owen heard that stupid phrase, it still sounded stupid.   There was no way to say ‘hetero-species’ that didn’t sound either puerile or perverted.  They were going to laugh at it; they were going to laugh at _him._  

Nope.  He needed the host to do the intro again. He wasn't ready. He wasn't prepared. He braced his toes into the floor and stopped short, just outside the lights.  

“Hang on a sec…”  he muttered. 

“Aw, no, man.  Now is _not_ the time,” Lowery crooned.  Owen felt a hand land against his back, and _shove._  

Owen lurched out into the spotlight, perforce spring out onto the stage. 

The lights flashed in his eyes, and the roar of the audience ramped up as they saw him.  The stage was a swelter of hot pink and orange zapped with reflective silver.  It was like being inside  a Turkish Delight box.  The audience was a wall of humanity wrapped around stage, and they were all looking at him, and their applause was a roar of noise. 

He couldn’t turn and run away now, with all their eyes on him, so he wobbled forward, trying to plaster a confident expression on his face.  He focused his eyes on the low red couch in front of him, and trudged toward it. 

He’d seen that red couch before.  David Attenborough had sat on that red couch.  Hadn’t Steve Irwin sat on that couch, too?  He wasn’t sure if it was the same couch.  But David Attenborough had _definitely_ sat on that red couch right there, and if David Attenborough could sit on it at ninety years old, then so could Owen Grady. 

Graham Norton was boppling energetically over the violent carpet to meet Owen, with his hand outstretched for a handshake. 

“Hello there, welcome to the show!”

Owen shook his hand.  “Glad to be here.” He plastered the grin on his face, and hoped Norton couldn't feel his fingers trembling.

“And I think you’ve got someone here who we’re all dying to meet!” 

“I sure do,” Owen said, and turned around.  He turned to the shadows backstage and signed, <All is well.> 

For a moment there was no movement. 

And then between one instant and the next, she was _there._   She sprang out into the light and stopped short.  She was framed by the orange and pink walls on either side of her, and her blue stripe seemed to gleam under the hot lights.  Her long head turned from side to side, as if she was surveying the human beings spread out on the stands in front of her, the glittering lights and cameras dripping from the ceiling, the red couch. 

The view seemed to please her, because she dropped her neck horizontally, opened her jaws and talons to the audience, and screamed at the top of her voice.  A raptor’s scream was a horrible noise, no matter how many times you heard it.  A raptor’s voice sounded like a train’s brakes being dragged over a blackboard. It was a noise that shot directly into the primitive rodent parts of the human brain that still remembered hiding in dark crevices from the terrible lizards outside.

The entire audience seemed to inhale with one breath. 

For a moment, Owen could see her as _they_ saw her.  A dinosaur – a velociraptor – the monster of legend.  Live, large, lethal, and burning with carnivorous desire.  An alien, in _every_ meaningful sense of the word. 

But she _had_ chosen well when she picked this show.  Graham Norton might have got the same surprise as everyone else from the scream, but he was a _pro._   He threw his arms up in delight, as if he got screamed at by velociraptors every day. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” he crowed.  “Let’s start the show!”   He clapped his hands vigorously, and right on cue, the studio audience went _wild_.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this and going 'WTF?' this is your cue to read Parts 1 & 2\. I promise I'm not mad! 
> 
> With thanks to GuesssWho for the plot bunny.


	2. Threats rising

#### San Judas Tadeo

#### Present day

Owen walked steadily through the forest.  The path led gently downhill away from the houses of San Judas Tadeo, and toward the town’s little airstrip.  He’d asked around for StripeSide, and he’d been told that a group of velociraptors had been seeing going  this way.

It was early morning, but the day was already hot.  The climate was perfect for raptors, but the weather lately had been even hotter than usual, and unseasonably dry – El Nino, they told him.  It hadn’t rained for weeks.  The water level in the small lake near the town was lower than it had been for years. 

He paused to take off his hat and wipe his brow. 

Somewhere beyond the trees, a raptor screamed.  The sound was shrill, and sliced through the still air.  He knew it wasn’t StripeSide’s voice, but he couldn’t tell which one it was.  Still, where there was one raptor there would always be more; always. 

He put his hat back on, and kept walking.  She was here somewhere; he would find her. 

After a few minutes the shady forest broke open into sunshine.  Owen found himself looking out at a fallow field.  The thin jungle soil baked in the sun.  In the middle of the field, a dozen raptors were standing together in a huddle, heads down, intent on some strange business. 

His own beautiful StripeSide was in the middle of the group, as usual.  Her bright blue stripe gleamed against the browns and duns of the older raptors.   The most beautiful and striking velociraptor of them all – and the only one wearing a woven chain of flowers around her neck. 

Around StripeSide were a dozen other raptors.  Owen recognised JaguarPaw and MoonRain and others of StripeSide’s own pack, and other raptors who were still strangers to Owen, but who had come to San Judas Tadeo when they heard the rumours about the new queen and her daring dreams.  StripeSide was the queen of all the raptors – not only her own pack, but _all_ the raptors in the rainforest.  Three weeks ago, she had fought and deposed the old queen, TravelsOverWater, and led the velociraptors out of the forest and into the human world.  They were here, in this little town, because of StripeSide and her dreams. 

There were humans with the raptors too.  Jorge, who was called SnoresLoudly by the raptors, was standing next to the boy, Cristian.  Cristian was holding a piece of paper, and he and Jorge were both standing shoulder-to-shoulder and looking intently at it. 

As Owen watched, StripeSide pointed to the ground, and a moment later JaguarPaw bent down.  He started to dig at the dry grass with his hind feet, and all the raptors watched him closely.  Thick raptor claws scraped up clumps of earth, and dry sand drifted up in a cloud around him.  JaguarPaw dug a bit, scraping at the soil, and then he stepped back. StripeSide leaned down and looked carefully at JaguarPaw’s digging.  There was more snarling back and forth among the raptors.  It looked to Owen as if they were discussing the hole. 

What the hell was going on?  Owen had never seen raptors digging before. 

Owen decided he’d skulked in the shade long enough.  He stepped out into the sun and climbed the sloping field toward the group of raptors.  “Blue,” he called.

StripeSide’s head snapped up to look at him at the sound of his voice.  

<I greet you,> he signed to her. 

She stepped away from her pack.   She screamed at him in recognition, and came over to meet him. 

<I greet you, with pleasure,> she said, trotting to meet him, and sliding to a stop in front of him. 

“There’s my girl,” he said aloud, aware that she couldn’t understand her words but would recognised the rhythm and tone of that phrase.    

She blinked her honey-gold eyes at him serenely, and leaned her muzzle toward his face, asking for a caress. 

He cupped both hands under the end of her snout, and she held very still.  He lowered his face to meet hers, and rested his face gently against the very tip of her snout.

“There’s my girl,” he said, against her nostrils. 

It was their own private greeting.  He was hers, and she was his.  He didn’t understand all the ramifications of the raptor-human dyad, but he didn’t care.  She was his, as WingWatch was Lowery’s.  Nobody understood it, but it was what it was, and it was good. 

Her hide was warm and rough in his palms.  He could feel the breath from her nostrils on his face, and knew that she was breathing in his scent.  He sent his left hand under her head, massaging her throat the way she liked, and she breathed out warmly against his face.  He could kiss the end of her nose, if he wanted to, but then she would whip her face away and give him an accusing stare.  Raptors didn’t understand kisses; they seemed to think they were yuck. 

Then again, raptors fed their babies by vomiting half-digested meat on their heads; now _that_ was yuck.  He grinned to himself against the end of her snout, aware that she couldn’t see his expression. 

She shifted her head and he released her snout. 

<Happy, I am to see you,> she signed.  <I have something interesting to show you.>

<What is this, that you do here and now?>  he asked. 

She stepped back, and her long head swivelled on her neck as she turned to stare at Jorge. 

<SnoresLoudly!> she signed, backing up her words with a hiss-snap.  <Bring the paper.  Show FirstHuman this new thing.> 

Jorge came over, with Cristian behind him. 

“I found this online, Uncle Owen,” Cristian said.  “It’s about dinosaurs.  Scientists say they dug holes to court each other!”

Owen took the paper and read it, aware of StripeSide lowering her head to scan the paper over his shoulder.  Her jawbone bumped against his shoulder. 

> **_Experts say scrape-digging was a part of dinosaur courtship._ **
> 
> **_Physical evidence of large scrapes made by the feet of theropod dinosaurs has been discovered at four sites at Dakota Sandstone, a single Cretaceous rock unit in_ ** **_Colorado_ ** **_._ **
> 
> **_The behaviour, known as nest scrape display, involves males showing off their ability to provide for females by excavating fake nests._** **_The largest contained around 60 impressions, some of which were over six feet long and almost a foot deep._**
> 
> **_The scrapes are similar to those made by some modern ground-nesting birds — including Atlantic puffins and ostriches — during breeding season.  The researchers believe that some of the marks represent evidence of mating rituals among a species of dinosaur called Acrocanthosaurus, a large, predatory species of bipedal theropod…_ **

_Cretaceous,_ he thought.  _Predatory therapod._  

He lowered the sheet of paper, and looked at JaguarPaw.  The male dinosaur was digging again, and MoonRain was watching him carefully. 

“Where did you find this?” he asked Cristian. 

“I read it online, and I thought she would be interested, and she was so excited she led us all up here to try it out right away.”

She was a raptor, he thought.  She _would_ want to find out right away.  Raptors were every bit as curious as humans were.  They knew that their kind had died out, millions of years ago.  They knew that they existed because humans had called them out of fossils.  They knew where they were, and who they were, and what they wanted out of life.  But they knew almost nothing of their own ancestors. 

Owen understood what they were trying to do now.  Their whole world was lost.  Their history was forgotten, their culture was dead.  But still, they wanted to know.  They were trying to connect with their own dead ancestors, trying to use the best guesses of human paleontologists to recapture a fragment of their own history. 

They were trying to touch a lost world, but that world was gone for ever. 

It reminded him how fragile they really were.  The raptors could go extinct again, so easily.  The only raptors left in the world were here – all that was left of their kind. They were only a tiny scrap of life, only a delicate flickering candle of intelligence in the endless dark of extinction.  They were so precious, but they were also breathtakingly fragile.  A break in the chain, a few deaths, and their brief rebirth would be snuffed out again. 

It had nearly happened once before.  After the Jurassic Park Incident, the Costa Rican government had gone to Isla Nublar and killed every raptor they could find.  The last boatload of stowaways from the island had been caught and destroyed before they could escape to the mainland.  There had been raptors on Isla Sorna, but no-one had seen one there for ten years, and Owen was sure that pack had all succumbed to their horrible prion disease.

He could not let that happen to StripeSide and her pack.  

A moment later, he heard a human shout from behind him.  A human and a raptor were coming up the same path Owen had.  He recognised BitterTooth, and his human Carlo.  Carlo was carrying a bag. 

“I’ve got digging tools here!” he said.  He marched up to the raptors and dropped the bag on the ground, and instantly BitterRoot was dragging the bag open and pulling tools out. 

<What are these things?> MoonRain asked, and lowered her nose to look. 

“These are called pulaskis!” Carlo announced, at exactly the same moment that BitterTooth was signing, <They are used to fight fires.  I name them fire-dig-blades!>

BitterTooth and Carlo had a habit of both speaking at the same time, making it difficult to follow what they were saying.  StripeSide had assured Owen that BitterTooth did that in the raptors’ language too, and it annoyed the raptors as much as it annoyed the humans.        

“Couldn’t you find a spade?” Jorge asked, exasperated. 

“No!” Carlo said.  “Here!  Watch!” 

He bent to the ground and began digging with the blade of the pulaski, pitting the blade into the ground and digging.  It wasn’t a very effective shovel – it scraped over the dirt without breaking it.  But it was enough that JaguarPaw, who had been doing most of the digging, sprang over and snatched it out of his hands. 

JaguarPaw took the pulaski over to another patch of dry earth, and began digging again.  MoonRain stalked over to JaguarPaw, and began directing him.  He wasn’t doing it right, in her opinion, and a fight immediately broke out.  They lashed out at each other, and the humans moved out of range of the argument. 

StripeSide bumped her nose gently into Owen’s shoulder.  <I will now dig you a hole,> she announced, when he turned to look at her.  <Observe!>

He folded his arms across his chest, and stood watching her.  She stooped low, her tail raised for balance, and scraped at the soil with her forehands.  Her talons scraped, _scruff-scruff-scruff-scruff,_ and the sand she was digging flew away behind her, as if she was a large reptilian terrier.  Her efforts scraped up her own dustcloud, which coated her forearms and face. 

She paused, sniffing, and then sneezed so hugely that she stepped backward to catch her balance.

He coughed carefully, trying not to laugh.  Sneezes were serious business.  She stopped digging and snorted through her nostrils to clear them, and then she bent back down to her digging.  This time she didn’t stop until she had scraped out a trench nearly a foot deep. 

She stood upright, and backed away to look down at her work.  <Is that a good hole?> 

<It is a hole,> Owen signed. 

She hiss-snapped.  <Agreed.  Is that a good hole?>

<It is a hole, and only a hole,> he signed.  <It is not very deep.> 

<Will it do for a nest?> 

<Do you want to lay eggs?> he asked, surprised.  <In a hole?>

<This is not for eggs.  This is about the Old Ones.> 

<I do not think this is what the Old Ones did.> 

He sat down on his heels to look at the hole.  He was sure she would appreciate it if he examined the hole more closely. 

<What does it look like to you?> he asked StripeSide. 

She cocked her head, looking at the hole, and let out a low warble of distress, shivering her jaws up and down.  <It looks like a hole.> 

< Do you feel anything?  Does it speak?> 

<It is a hole.>  She swung her head away, and stared at JaguarPaw, who was still digging.  <The Old Ones may have done this.>

He leaned out his hand and touched her shoulder briefly.  <The Old Ones in that writing are a different kind to you.> 

<We know so little about the Old Ones.  Their stories are gone.  Their memories are gone.  We have nothing of them but bones.> 

The sound of a helicopter came to his ears, and he looked up.  The field was open to the sky, not surrounded by forest canopy, and his eyes picked out the tiny dark sparkle of a helicopter, high in the sky.  StripeSide settled back on her hocks to stare up at it as well. 

There had been a time that he wouldn’t have spared a glance at a passing helicopter, but they weren’t regular visitors to San Judas Tadeo. 

<More visitors?> he signed to StripeSide. 

She cocked her head and blinked her eyes, and he recognised the signs of her thinking her way through a question. 

Even as a hatchling, she had been smarter than her sisters.  The other youngsters had flown into a rage if they couldn’t solve a problem immediately.  But his Blue had always settled down with a fierce concentration, until she had thought her way through any puzzle he set her. 

<They are flying west-north-west.  And they are very high in the air, which means they have flown straight over the town without stopping.  I think they go up the river, where the Lioness has her nest.  They go to visit her.>

<They are not our friends,> he signed.    

<They are out of our reach, anyway,> she signed.  She lowered her head, dismissing the helicopter from her attention.  She looked ruefully down into the nest.  Her jaws opened, panting slightly with an expression he had come to recognise as unhappiness. 

<This is not suitable for eggs at all,>  she signed. 

It looked as if the other raptors were coming to the same conclusions.  Holes were just holes.  Whether dug with hind feet or forehands, whether dug for your mate, or your dyad – a hole in the ground was just a hole.  Even JaguarPaw had given up on digging, and was sitting on his haunches regarding his own talons as if he was regretting the rough use he’d put them through. 

Owen reached over and put his hand on her shoulder again, feeling the rough warmth of her hide.  She turned her head and snuffled at his hand with her nose. 

He took his hand back, and signed to her, <Worry not about the Old Ones.>

<We know so little about the Old Ones!  We do not know anything of our own people.  No books we have, no stories, no heroes.  We have your stories, because ours is all gone.> 

<The Old Times cannot be got back,> Owen said, picking his grammar carefully, <The world ended.  But now we have a new world, and we can make new stories, and we want _you_ in them.> 

<This is the truth,> she said, straightening up.  <The Old Time had no humans in it, and this would have been very sad.  No humans, none at all.  Such lonely people the Old Ones must have been!  No,  I would not trade the New Times for the Old – not if it meant a world without my human!> 

* * *

 

The helicopter swooped low over the river, its propwash ruffling the water.  It climbed toward the hilltop over the trees, where a cluster of creamy walls shimmered in the heat.  It flared neatly and landed, settling down between trees onto a helipad. 

As soon as its landing treads had planted securely, a man ran out from under the trees to the side door.  He opened the door, holding down his hat.  _"Señor_ Thornton?”  he shouted over the roar of the engine. 

“That’s me,” said the only passenger in the back of the helicopter. 

The man nodded, his face unsmiling under his sunglasses.  “Welcome to Colombia, _Señor!”_ he shouted at Thornton, ignoring the pilot.  “My name is Pedro.  _Señorita_ Gomez will see you immediately.  Follow me, please?” 

Thornton glanced forward at the pilot, ready to thank him for his flight, but the pilot  was busy with his engine, and not looking at his passenger.  Thornton picked up his cane, and Pedro helped him down to the ground.  He turned around for his suitcase, but someone else had opened the opposite door of the helicopter, and his bag was already being carried away.  

He supposed it didn’t matter where it was going.  If La Leona wanted him to see his luggage again, he’d see it.  If not… it didn’t matter. 

He kept his head down out of the still spinning rotors, and followed Pedro across the helipad.  The steel crutch clicked as his weight came on and off it at each step. 

He still needed a crutch to walk.  The doctors had told him his left leg was now officially shorter than his right, and that meant that one day his hip would pay for the difference in arthritis.  It already hurt like hell.  He’d spent six months with steel pins holding his tibia together, and he’d been in pain so long it felt as if it was part of who he was, now.  His days of riding and rock-climbing were over.  Without the cane, his knee would buckle under him.  He was a cripple. 

He hobbled after Pedro, along a path laid with woodchips, and came out through an opening in the trees to a wide green lawn.  There was a pool, and palm trees.  The cluster of buildings had creamy walls, and ranks of decorative columns, and shady cloisters.  It looked like a slice of Mediterranean decadence, dropped arbitrarily in the Amazon jungle, and Thornton, who’d seen Mediterranean decadence only on an MSC cruise holiday, was impressed by the glamour of the place.  

The roar of the helicopter had died down to a deep rumble, muffled by the trees, and he called to Pedro. 

“Hey, mate, slow down!  I need to freshen up before I talk to your boss-lady.  I’ve been sitting in that thing for hours.” 

Pedro glanced at him over his shoulder, a faint smile under the sunglasses.  “La Leona will see you now.”

“But…” 

“Now.  She is there,” and Pedro pointed at the creamy villa ahead of him. 

There was a portico along the front of the building, shading a lovely terrace that looked out over the lawn.  There was someone sitting there, leaning back in a wicker  armchair and tapping away at a laptop.  Thornton glimpsed long black hair spilling loose. 

Pedro led Thornton up onto the terrace and to the armchair. 

“ _Señorita,_ ” Pedro said, approaching the figure in the armchair.  “The American, from InGen, _Señor_ Thornton.” 

“Australian,” Thornton said, before prudence could stop him.  He stopped, facing the woman in the armchair. 

She looked up at him.  “Of course you are,” she said, in excellent English. 

She closed the laptop and slid it forward onto the glass-topped table between her and Thornton.  She leaned back in her chair, and lowered her sunglasses to look at Thornton, and he got his first glimpse at Emilia Gomez.

La Leona; the Lioness.   She should have been beautiful, he thought; she should have been a svelte comic-book villainness.  She had glossy black hair, and her make-up was impeccable – glossy red lips, and smoky eyes.  But there was a stony hardness to her face, a coldness in her stiff cheeks, and her gritted jaw.  She reminded him suddenly of Condoleezza Rice, or Angela Merkel.  No amount of sexy lipstick could soften the power of this woman. 

“I’m pleased to receive you, Mr Thornton.  Sit down, please.  We have urgent matters to discuss.” 

“We do,” Thornton agreed.  Pedro pointed out a wicker armchair for him to sit in, and then sat down in another one, facing his liege-lady over the glass table. 

“Would you care for a drink?”  she offered. 

“Er, yeah.  Beer would be Jim Dandy.” 

La Leona held up one hand, and snapped her fingers.  A maid Thornton hadn’t even noticed before swivelled and disappeared into the house. 

“I contacted your bosses to arrange this meeting, because it appears you and I are dealing with the same problem from different sides.  And they have sent you to advise me in how to deal with this… infestation.”

“Velociraptors,” he said.  “ _Velociraptor nublarensis_.  A species of dinosaur first created at Jurassic Park.”

“Velociraptors, exactly.  In San Judas Tadeo.  In _my_ town, Mr Thornton.  You see, I regard myself as the protector of these poor people.  Their safety is my duty.  Their protection, my burden.  Great power, you know – great responsibility.”

“Yeah, I know that.” 

“And now this poor little town has become infested with your velociraptors.  _Your_ velociraptors.  _Your_ company let them loose.”

“We made them, but we didn’t release them.  A man called Owen Grady stole them from us.”

Pedro grunted.  Emilia Gomez flicked a glance at him, and he said nothing. 

“Owen Grady has caused a mess, but InGen will fix it,” Thornton promised.  “We own these animals, and we’ll deal with them.” 

“When you say, _deal_ with them… what will you do?” 

“Destroy them.  Put them down.  InGen still legally owns them.  This mess can still be contained, without causing too much of a splash.  There’s no need for them to become Pablo Escobar’s hippos.”

“People _like_ Pablo Escobar’s hippos,” La Leona said.  “There’s a reserve now.  People go to look at them.  They kill hundreds of people a year in Africa, but when the Colombian government tried to eradicate them, people defended them.” 

“Velociraptors are not hippos,” Pedro grunted.  “They hunted my men.  They plan.  They lay traps.  They’re smart.” 

“That’s why we want to eradicate them before they spread,” Thornton said.  “If idiots start to protect them, if they’re allowed to spread, thousands of people are going to die.  _Thousands,_ not hundreds.  Nowhere in South America will be safe.”   

 “That’s all I wanted to hear,” La Leona purred. 

“Nobody else needs to get hurt,”  Thornton promised.  “I trained under Steve Irwin.  I know every trick in the book when it comes to trapping wild reptiles.” 

“People won’t like that,” La Leona said. 

“But it won’t matter what people think about velociraptors, once they’re all dead.  InGen can deal with the PR fall-out later.  There’s nothing that can’t be spun the right way, and InGen has enough politicians in their pockets that the US government won’t stand in their way.” 

“And this man, Owen Grady?”

“Owen Grady has done _millions_ of dollars of damage, letting those ten animals loose.  If I can catch Owen Grady that’ll be the cherry on the cake.  He’s wanted for two deaths, not to mention arson, malicious damage to property, theft…”  

“Owen Grady is here.”  

“He’s … what?” 

Emilia Gomez sat forward in her chair.  “I have something to show you.” 

She leaned forward, and opened the laptop screen on the table in front of her.  She tapped briefly at the mouse, and then turned the laptop around to face Thornton. 

“This was filmed just a few miles upriver from here, three weeks ago.” 

Thornton leaned forward to watch.  The player was full-screen, and showed a surprisingly high-resolution picture.  The player zoomed in over a lush jungle that reminded him of the Daintree Rainforest.  He could hear muffled breathing, and the sound of birds calling. 

At first the view was just trees, and more trees, and patches of shadow and light, like a jigsaw.  Then the camera panned, and suddenly focused tightly on a long blue-grey head.  

Thornton hissed as he saw her. 

 _Blue!_  

In the hospital he had dreamed of Blue.  He’d dreamed of her black talons, ripping through his flesh, mangling his leg and then jogging away as if ruining his life meant nothing.  He was cripped for life because of her.  Awake, he had soothed himself with dreams of that blue hide blackening in flames as he burned her carcass.  

He would burn that vermin.  He wanted to burn them all. 

“Her name is Blue,” Thornton said, and looked at La Leona.  “She’s the most dangerous of the lot.   _She’s_ the one who did _this_ to me.”   He pointed at his leg.

There were men’s voices talking on the video recording, but they were speaking Spanish, and he didn’t understand them. 

“Do you recognise that voice?”  Pedro asked. 

“No, I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“That is Owen Grady,” La Leona said. 

Thornton looked down at the lap-top again.  Now that he thought about it, one of the voices _did_ sound like Owen Grady. 

“That bastard!” Thornton spat.  “He’s a nasty piece of work!  He knew exactly how dangerous these animals are, he had a choice between protecting human beings and letting them out, and he chose to let them out.  I don’t even have _words_ to describe what scum he is.” 

To his surprise, La Leona tossed her head back and laughed, her hair swinging,  as if she was delighted at some private internal jest. 

 _“Si, si,”_ she said, smiling.   “You and I want the same thing!  It makes sense to pool our efforts against a mutual enemy.”

“It is going to be a pleasure doing business with you, ma’am!” Thornton growled. 

“How are you going to do it?” La Leona asked.  “These animals are tough.  And they’re fast.” 

“I have something here to show you,” he said.  He leaned down, and picked up the case he had carried.  He unclipped the catches and lifted the lid.  He swivelled the case to show her. 

The little bottles gleamed.  They were held snugly in ranks by little loops of webbing.  “I have more in my baggage,” Thornton said.  He stroked a finger over the line of bottles. 

“You came prepared,” La Leona said. 

“InGen has always had a problem with putting down sick animals.  They came up with this.  It’s derived from on a chemical found in avocadoes.  Harmless to humans – toxic to birds – _instantly_ lethal to dinosaurs.  Their hearts just stop, and they’re dead before they hit the ground.” 

“Ahhh!  I could have used this three weeks ago,” Pedro said, reaching out and touching the rows of little glass bottles with his fingertips.

“InGen has sent someone else to spy on the raptors, get a feeling for the situation on the ground.  As soon as we have his report, we’ll know the best way to proceed.  Our helicopter teams will arrive as soon as we know where the raptors are – and then we can hit them and wipe them all out.”

“All of them?” La Leona asked. 

“Every last one.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI:  
> http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/d-brief/2016/01/07/dancing-dinosaurs-twisted-turned-attract-mates/  
> http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-01-08/dinosaurs-may-have-danced-to-woo-mates/7076066
> 
> Also, this is where I should add a disclaimer. I don't speak Spanish, I've never met a single Colombian person, and I’ve never even been to that side of the Pond - so if I've got something glaringly wrong about South America, please let me know.


	3. The visitors

San Judas Tadeo was a small place.  It was built on the south bank of the Rio Trejo, on a little hill, around which the river looped.  It wasn’t a big place – too far from roads to have much of an economy, too far from the waterfall to be very interesting.  San Judas Tadeo only qualified for the noun ‘town’ because it was the largest village in the region, and as such it had been the logical place for the region's only school, the only market, the only clinic.

But San Judas Tadeo was also the closest village to the villa where Miguel Gomez had built his hidden stronghold, and this was a position both threatening and fortunate. 

Miguel Gomez had been far too too wary to allow unwelcome guests easy access to his stronghold.  Gomez had caused the town’s tiny airstrip to be levelled properly, with a tarred runway, and even a little two-room terminal.  The little airstrip slept undisturbed in the tropical sun, until three weeks ago.

Three weeks ago, the whole world changed for the people of San Judas Tadeo. 

A small plane was coming down to land.  At first, the plane was just a white speck in the distance, humming along the green mountaintops.  The sunlight stabbed off its white wings.  It swung slowly around the town, dipping its starboard wing as it looped over the river. The engine's buzz seemed to waver in the hot air. 

So far, so normal. 

But the airstrip of San Judas Tadeo is _not_ like any other small bush airstrip in the world.  As the plane levelled on the the runway, a man ran out of the air traffic control shack.  He stopped and yelled at the top of his lungs, waving his arms over his head. 

Half a dozen velociraptors were lying in the middle of the airstrip, sleeping in the sunshine.  At the sound of shouting they lifted their lean reptilian heads, blinking drowsily. A few of them noticed the approaching plane, and a moment later they rolled themselves sleepily to their feet and jogged away.  Even as the small plane was starting its final approach, the dinosaurs were vanishing in line-ahead between the trees.

Once again, the airstrip of San Judas Tadeo looked exactly like any other small bush airstrip in the world.  The plane came down with a bounce, and a puff of dust, and rolled to halt on the far end of the runway.  In the distance, the plane seemed to shimmer against the dark green of the forest around it.   It turned, wobbling on its little wheels, and taxied back to the control tower.  The dog lying under the eaves of the shack barked at it as it came.  The man from the air traffic control shack watched, shading his eyes under his palm, waiting patiently.

When the plane had rolled to a stop, the man from the control shack went to meet it.  He waved to the pilot, who waved back through the windows,  and pulled open the plane’s door. 

“Welcome to San Judas Tadeo!” he said to the four men in the passenger cabin, looking them over. "My name is Flavio! Welcome!"

He was greeted with a flood of English from the elderly man sitting in the front-facing seat.  He was already unknotting his seabelt and scrambling to get out of the plane. Flavio backed away to let him out.    

Two of the men were young, fit and tanned, with tight crew-cuts.  One was blond, one brunet.  One had a sharp hook of a nose and a square jaw; the other had a dimpled chin scuffed by stubble.  Their eyes scanned from side to side, watchfully, in the way that some of La Leona’s soldiers did.  Dangerous men, Flavio decided. 

The fourth man was older, with curly black hair, and dressed in black from head to foot.  His lips were drawn back into a wry expression, as if everyone around him was ridiculous, but could not see themselves as he did.  As Flavio helped him down he saw that he was tall. 

“Hello, hello,” he said.  “My name is Flavio!  This is my airport!” 

“And hello to you, too,” the man in the black jacket said.  He reache back into the plane, and pulled out a white cane, topped with a large honey-coloured orb.  “I’m Ian, this is Alan.  He’s Damien, and that’s Michael.” 

“Afternoon,” the blond man named Michael said, with an unsmiling nod. 

The one named Alan was already standing on the tarmac, staring around at the runway and the lush forest that ringed it.  He wore a checkered shirt, and a well-worn fedora pulled low over his eyes.  His face was lined, and leathery; not merely tanned, but the kind of tough reddened face one sees on homeless people and fishermen, eroded by wind, and scoured by more sun than human skin should endure. His eyes were bright blue, under the low brim of the hat, and his mouth was set in a wry grimace. 

“Come inside, please.  It is so hot out here.  Have a nice cold drink, let me take your luggage to town, we have a nice hotel now, very friendly, very eco-tourism…” 

Alan turned back to Flavio and spoke again, and this time Flavio understood his accent.  “Where are the dinosaurs?” 

“We have dinosaurs,” Flavio said, proud of his eloquent English.  “We have lots of dinosaurs.  No hurry, yes?  We have all day.  Come inside, I’ll call the porter to take your bags…” 

 _“Where are the velociraptors?”_ Alan insisted, gripping Flavio’s shoulder with a surprisingly strong grip. 

“You’ll have to forgive my friend here,” Ian, the man in the black leather jacket said, with a quick smile that flashed and disappeared.  “He’s obsessive.  He’s not going to stop, not going to stop digging, until he finds a dinosaur.  Throw him a bone.  Any bone.  Doesn’t have to be fresh.” 

 Flavio understood suddenly, and wanted to laugh with delight.  They were tourists! Owen Grady had warned them that they might see tourists, once people figured out how to get to where the dinosaurs were.   Most people in town were worried, but Flavio didn’t mind at all.  Tourists had been paying big money to Jurassic World to look at dinosaurs ever since that place opened!   Well, now San Judas Tadeo had just as good dinosaurs, and they were much nicer dinosaurs than a mouldy old Tyrannosaurus.  And today they had their first tourists!  Flavio had been reading everything he could find on how to be a tour guide just for this moment!

“Dinosaurs!  Yes!  We have dinosaurs.  You just missed them!  They were right here.”  Flavio turned around, but nothing was moving where _los Dinosaurios_ had jogged into the forest.

“Here?”

Flavio pointed out at the runway.  “They were right here.  Two minutes ago.” 

“Velociraptors…”  Damien and Michael looked at each other, and without another word they both reached into the tail of the plane and hooked out their duffelbags. 

“Where are they now?”  Alan said. 

“I’ll show you.  They won’t have gone far.”  Flavio turned around and screamed at the air traffic control shack.  “Eduardo!  Come out here!  Take these bags!  Eduardo!” 

Eduardo arrived in the doorway, and stopped and stared at the four tourists.  “Uncle Flavio!” he said in surprise. 

“They want to see dinosaurs, so I am going to take them to see some dinosaurs!”  Flavio waved his arms.  “I deputise you with… all this!  You’re in charge here!  Take their bags to the convent – I mean the hotel!” 

 “Uncle, do you know who that is?”  Eduardo asked, pointing to the tourists. 

“That?  That is this town’s first tourist!” Flavio yelled.  “Take their bags to the town, Eduardo, and tell Owen Grady we have our first tourists!”

“What about my plane?” the pilot complained.  “I want to refuel and get back into the air.  I’m not staying around velociraptors one minute longer than I have to!”

“We have tourists!” Flavio yelled at him.  “They want to see dinosaurs, and you want to run away?  Eduardo – come here and take the bags!” 

“Your tourists, they’re leaving,” Eduardo pointed out. 

Flavio turned to see that Alan was marching off across the tarmac, and the other three were following him. 

“Wait for me!” he yelled in English.  “I can show you the dinosaurs!” 

“Fuel my plane first!” the pilot roared. 

“Fuel it yourself!  You know where the pump is!”   Flavio jogged after the tourists.  He caught up with them after a few yards. 

“You’ve come here to see velociraptors, yes?” he asked, smiling as warmly as he knew how. 

“We’ve flown a long way, a really long way to see them,” Ian said, stopping and leaning on the honey-topped cane.  “And I’ve been waiting a real long time to, ah, be vindicated.   Wait, Alan!  They’ve been out here twenty-two years, they’re not going anywhere.  You can slow down for the guy with a cane!”  

The other elderly man grunted, but he stopped marching, and turned to face Flavio.

“Where are they?” 

“They were here, just a minute ago,” Flavio said.  “They went this way.”  He pointed to where the path away from the airstrip into the forest.  He led them down the path, immensely pleased at being the town’s first tour guide.   He’d already listed himself on TripAdvisor. 

They were out of sight of the strip in minutes.  The ground underfoot crunched slightly at each step – a sign of how little rain they had had lately.  The forest was cool and shady, punctuated by shafts of sunlight filtering down from above. 

“Where are they?” Ian asked. 

Flavio wondered why he was whispering.  Velociraptors had excellent hearing; there was no point trying to hide from them. 

“I don’t know,” Flavio admitted.  “They travel fast.  They might have gone somewhere else.” 

“Oh, no…” 

“But no, I am sure they are still here!” Flavio reassured them quickly.  “It is hot.  They are sleepy, see?  They like to sleep in the sun if the weather is dry, like this?  They’ll go somewhere warm to sleep.”

“How do you know?”  Alan asked. 

Flavio shrugged.  “They sleep in the day.  Not all at once, like we do, no.  Only for a few hours at a time.  They like their siesta so much they siesta all day, see?  They say it is because they have to _think_ about their temperature all the time, so they sleep when it is warm, and only for a few hours at a time.” 

 _“Who_ says …?” 

Ian cut off his words at the sound of a shrill scream.  It cut through the hot still air of the forest, and then went quiet again. 

“Ah, they’re not far,” Flavio said.  “That sounds like BitterTooth.  BitterTooth is always making a lot of noise.”

He waited for a reply, but they said nothing.  After a few paces, he realized that they weren’t going to answer.  He stopped walking, and looked back to see where they were.   

They had stopped following him.  Alan was gripping Ian’s leather jacket by the elbow, and both men had gone pale.  The two young men had dropped their duffel bags, and a knife had suddenly appeared in the blond one’s hand. 

“Is a problem?”  Flavio asked, worried about their reactions and hurrying back toward them.  It wouldn’t look good on TripAdvisor if he frightened his first tourists away.

 _“Raptors!”_ Alan whispered. 

“Ah, I love being proven right,” Ian said.

“It’s still not too late to get back on that plane, Ian.”  Alan’s lips had drawn tight and bloodless.  His eyes almost glowed with intensity.  

“Ah, no, not me.  I’m not going anywhere until _everyone_ knows I was right.”

“They are not far,” Flavio said.  “I think they went that way.”  He pointed downhill, and broke off the path, crunching through the undergrowth.    

Not too long ago, he would have hesitated before blundering around off the path.  It felt so strange to rush around in the forest without fearing for his feet.  Years of war  had left the Rio Trejo area scattered with landmines and booby-traps.  In such an isolated part of the country, it might have taken clearance teams from Bogota _decades_ to get here and clear them so that the _campesinos_ could farm safely again.  But _Los Dinosaurios_ had cleared them all in a few days.  The velociraptors could _see_ them, or _smell_ them - Flavio didn’t know how they did it, and he didn’t care.  Farmland that had been abandoned since the 1970s was being cleared for farming again.  _Campesino_ families who had subsisted in poverty and endless boredom were regaining their self-sufficiency.  It was as if the small frightened town of San Judas Tadeo had suddenly sprung back to life.

Flavio turned to make sure his tourists were still following him.  They were following in line, even Ian who seemed to be using the tip of his cane to keep his balance on passing trees. The leaf-litter was soft underfoot, as if they were walking on a mattress.  He could hear breathing behind him, and the soft crunching and crackling of their passage.  He wound his way between the trees and they followed in his wake.  Nobody spoke. 

The narrow path curled around a contour, and the trees opened up on his left.  The sunlight gleamed down between the trees in dapples of brilliant gold.  Between two trees, Flavio thought he caught a glimpse of sandy hide.  He turned and walked that way.  The trees opened into a clearing, and there they were. 

“There!” he said.  “There they are.  Right there.” 

 _Los Dinosaurios_ were sleeping placidly in the sunshine.  They were lying in the sun, all facing in the same direction in that strange way they had.  Most were lying on their sides.  A few of them lay upright on their breastbones with their forearms tucked under their heads.  They were all asleep. 

Alan pulled off his hat.  The hat fell to the ground.  His other hand came up as if on remote control, and pulled off his sunglasses.  The sunglasses fell to the ground.  He was staring at the raptors.  His eyes were almost glowing with the unblinking intensity of his gaze. 

“Raptors!” he whispered. 

 “Fuck me,” Damien breathed, amazed. 

Ian reached out a hand, holding onto a tree for balance as if the cane was not enough.  “I was right!”  

“Down,” the other young man said.  “Stay down, keep quiet.” 

Flavio looked around.  “No, no, not to worry, everything is all right!” he reassured, staying on his feet.  “Not to worry, please!” 

“Be _quiet,_ man!” Alan hissed at him.

“No, no!  Is all right!  They know we are here!  I tell you their names, _si?_   These are some of StripeSide’s own pack.  That’s StiffTail, and that’s RiverStone.  That one is MoonRain.  That one there – you can just see his head? – his name is BitterTooth.  On the other side are JadeTapir and CloudyLeftEye.  And that one over there is JaguarPaw.” 

 “Who names them?” 

“They name themselves.  Like BitterTooth – he is a Namer.” 

“Wait – how do you know that?” 

Stupid question, Flavio thought.  Tourists were known for asking stupid questions,  but he probably shouldn’t tell his first tourists they were stupid.   It wouldn’t look good on TripAdvisor.  “They said so,” he said.  “This pack is just coming back from hunting.  There is not a lot of hunting so close to town, see?  So they travel far away, hunt, come back all nice and fat.” 

“There’s plenty of hunting in town,” one of the two young men said.  “Us.” 

“Oh, no!  That would be against the law!” Flavio said.  “Raptors hunting people?  No, not ever.”

“Whose law?’

“ _Their_ law!”

“Raptors kill people.” 

Flavio shrugged his shoulders.  “Oh, well, everyone says Jurassic Park, raptors eat people.  Everyone says so, but eh, just because everyone says something does not make it true, eh?  Heyyy, I have the idea.  You all stand together, and I take some pictures?” 

* * *

 

StripeSide woke up from her afternoon nap.  She stretched herself luxuriantly on her bed of woodchips, and opened her eyes. 

Her human was sitting at her side under their pavilion.  He had not yet noticed that she was awake.  He was framed by the open door, bending over his work.  He was weaving another flower-chain for her, to replace the one she wore now.  His lips were pursed, and his eyes were narrowed with the ferocity of his concentration. 

The sight of him made her bloodheat flood with pleasure.  His floral gifts to her were getting stronger; the first one had lasted less than a day before coming to pieces, but each one seemed to be getting tougher.  She did not know what to give to him in return, but he did not seem to mind.

“My human,” she said aloud.  “Mine, mine, all mine.” 

She rolled to her feet, and he looked up as he noticed her movement.  He bared his teeth when he saw her awake, and spoke her name in the humans’ strange singing language. 

 _Blue…_ he crooned softly. 

She stepped over to him, and stooped to see what he was doing. 

He raised his hands, and put them under the tip of her snout.  She breathed into his face and let her eyes close, enjoying the scent of her human, and the feeling of the prickly fur on her snout.  She could see his bloodheat, and sense his heart rate.  He was at ease; content; happy. 

_Theresmygirl...  Howdidyou sleep, beautifulBlue?_

If he was happy, so was she.  All was well between them.  He was her bond-mate; he was hers, and his contentment was hers, too.  Had he been able to speak with his bloodheat, it would have said what hers did now, so her bloodheat had to speak for  both of them. 

“Nothing pleases me more every day than to see you here when I wake up,” she said to him, even though she knew he could not and would never hear her voice. He could not hear her, and she could not hear him, but it did not matter.  She could see in his bloodheat that his feelings matched hers.

She broke the contact gently, and backed away so as to sign to him. 

<I have decided to lay an egg,> she said. 

He jumped slightly; a tiny jerk of his shoulders.  He was surprised, she interpreted.  <Clarify?> he signed.  < Now?> 

<Not now!> she signed, amused by his astonishment.  <I will lay a practice egg first.  As WingWatch did, do you remember?> 

WingWatch had laid her first unfertilised egg in FirstHuman’s sleeping-place.  StripeSide would lay her eggs there also.  They both remembered the smell of FirstHuman’s sleeping-place very well, from when they had been tiny hatchlings.  His sleeping-place was soft, warm, and safe, and it smelled like FirstHuman.  It was the only logical place to lay an egg. 

<Who will be the father of this egg?> he asked. 

<This egg will not need a father,> she said, surprised. 

<Eggs need fathers.> 

Did he think that _all_ eggs needed sires?   <This will be a practice egg,> she explained.  < I must demonstrate whether I _can_ lay eggs before I can approach a male to sire them.>

It was astonishing how much humans didn’t know about things that the Real People took for granted.  

He raised his hand in what she thought was going to be a sign, but instead he rubbed his furry mouth with his fingers.  <How do you lay an egg without mating?>  he signed. 

<I do not know yet,> she said, <But it cannot be very difficult if _everyone_ does it.  Even chickens lay practice eggs. >

<This is true,>  he signed. 

<When I have laid a practice egg, then I will consider my mate.>  She bumped her nose against him affectionately.  <You must help me choose.  Then you and I will raise good strong hatchlings together.>

He raised his hands to sign something else, but she twisted her head around.  She could hear a voice in the distance, calling her name.  The voice was WoodAsh’s, and she was coming closer. 

StripeSide replied, “I am here!”  She whirled around and out of the pavilion. 

WoodAsh and SmallVoice were dashing up to her between the walls of woven leaves,  and SmallVoice ran past her and up to FirstHuman.  WoodAsh dug her claws into the soil and stopped herself before she could run into one of the trees that pinned the corner of the pavilion. 

“What sudden occurrence brings you here in such a hurry?”  StripeSide asked WoodAsh. She noticed that she was still looking _up_ at the yearling Cloud.  The Cloud People were going to be very big when they were fully grown. 

 “A flight-engine landed a few minutes ago,” WoodAsh said,  “and one of the humans in it is very important!  The human said to SmallVoice that one of the humans was on the Island of Clouds, and wrote a great book of many words about the Last Battle!”   

“Great news, indeed!” StripeSide exulted.  She snapped her teeth at WoodAsh, and turned to look at FirstHuman.    

FirstHuman had got up off the floor.  SmallVoice had grabbed him by the elbow and was dragging him to the door, chattering in excitement.  FirstHuman was nodding, and following, and then as he was being towed away something SmallVoice said made him break out into an excited song of his own, and suddenly accelerate.  _What?  AlanGrant?  Areyousure?_

<We go!> StripeSide signed to them all.  <We go, and find this human who was at the Last Battle!> 

She sprang off the edge of the pavilion and jogged away. 

* * *

 

Owen saw StripeSide pause in her head-down jog.  She raised her head and snaked her head from side to side, sniffing the air.  She opened her jaws, and screamed into the forest, and then snaked her head back to where Owen jogged behind her. 

<They are there!>  she signed to him, and pointed her long reptilian head and neck again through the trees.  <Wait!>

<Wait, not!> Owen flashed at her.  He ran past her, with Cristian close on his heels.  He ran over the crest, and came to a stop, looking down between the trees. 

There was a group of people just below him.  They were facing away from Owen.  Some were standing, while others were trying to crouch down behind the trees, as if they were trying to hide away from something beyond them.  They were all staring into the clearing, where the raptors were dozing in the sunshine. 

There was a distinct lack of running and screaming. Perhaps he’d got here in time, after all. 

“Doctor Grant!”  Owen yelled, waving his hand over his head.  Behind him, he heard StripeSide make an loud snarl. 

The people below him turned, and Owen started jogging downhill toward them. 

They were five men, two of whom he didn’t know.  He recognised Flavio, who waved his hand at Owen.  He recognised Alan Grant instantly, because he’d met him before.  It took him a second glance to be sure the man with Grant was really Ian Malcolm. 

Owen slowed to a walk. Alan Grant _and_ Ian Malcolm! Both of the doyennes of Jurassic Park at the same time!

He knew he could handle Alan Grant.  Grant had been a great palaeontologist, long before he had become inextricably linked to Jurassic Park.  He knew how to talk to Alan Grant. 

But he’d never anticipated having to handle Ian Malcolm at the same time.  Malcolm was a whole different kettle of fish to Alan Grant!  Rock-star mathematician, TV scientist, famously acerbic critic of all things pseudo-science, and the author of Lowery Cruthers’s all-time favourite book.  Ian Malcolm made Richard Dawkins look all warm and snuggly. 

Lowery should have been here.  Lowery _knew_ how to talk to grumpy, sarcastic boffins. 

 _Get a grip, Grady_ , he told himself firmly.  Owen had known that he would have to face Grant and Malcolm sooner or later.  Here they were, sooner rather than later.  If Grant and Malcolm, who had written all about raptors in their books, went public saying that raptors were intelligent and wanted to be friendly, people would believe them!  Grant and Malcolm were the best advocates for the raptors that he could have wished for, _if_ Owen could convince them to support them.

“Doctor Grant?  Doctor Malcolm?” Owen asked, coming to a stop. 

“There’s a raptor behind you!” Grant said. 

“Yeah, I know,” Owen said.   “She’s with me.” 

StripeSide took that as her cue to stroll past Owen and inspect her visitors.  She stalked around the strange humans on springy hocks, her tail bouncing lithely behind her.  She turned her long head from side to side, looking them over; a confident young monarch in her realm examining her guests.  

The two young men swivelled to keep facing her, warily.  “Er, Doctor Grant?” one of them said.  He did not look happy about the dinosaur examining him.   

“Don’t move a muscle!” Grant gritted, stiffening as StripeSide approached him.  She brought her head close to his, and Grant held perfectly still.    

“Easy, there,” Owen said.  “Just take it easy.  She won’t hurt you.”  He reached out his hand and ran it gently over the rise and fall of StripeSide’s spine as she stalked past him on her way to examine Dr Malcolm. 

“Who are you?” Grant asked. 

“My name is Owen Grady.  Her name is StripeSide.”

StripeSide sniffed at Malcolm, who stood rigidly. She looked closely at him, cocking her head and blinking her golden eyes at him, and made a curious warbling sound. “I never thought I’d stand and let a raptor sniff me,” Malcolm said, his voice tight.  Owen noticed that his fingers were knotted tightly around the top of a white cane with an amber orb on the top.    

“You called it right, Ian, all those years ago,” Grant said, keeping very still and watching StripeSide.  “You always said something got off that island.” 

“I should feel more happy than I do.” 

“Really?” Grant smiled wryly, still not moving anything below his neck.  “I thought you liked being proven right.” 

 “I knew I was right,” Malcolm said.  “My calculations gave me no other outcome.  Living systems defy entropy, by raising themselves onto levels of complexity at the last minute.  Patterns unfold, faster and faster, in a desperate race to outpace chaos.  Whenever a new pattern unfolds, other possibilities fall below the fold, gone, cut off forever, never retrievable.  I knew there _would_ be a new pattern.  Knew there _had_ to be a new pattern.  Life finds a way, and every time it finds a way, uh, you have a new pattern.  And then, you get … uh, you get _her.”_  

StripeSide backed away.  She’d investigated all of the strangers, and now she stepped back, satisfied.  She rocked back on her hocks and tipped her head back to cough-bark at the treetops. 

In the clearing, someone cough-barked back. Owen glanced over his shoulder. 

All the raptors were awake, and paying close attention to the queen raptor.   He wondered what on earth StripeSide was telling them.  BitterTooth and MoonRain were getting up, as if they were about to come over. StripeSide commanded them to halt with a snake of her neck and an imperious snap of her teeth.  MoonRain paused, swaying her weight over her feet from side to side.  All the raptors were examining the strange humans carefully from a distance, held at bay only by StripeSide’s command. 

StripeSide understood the importance of impressing outsiders.  The raptors were facing the same challenge as some of the indigenous tribes in the Amazon.  The Andaqui had advised La Patasola to do what some of the other tribes – the Yanomami, among others – had done.  She knew that there were good outsiders that came with cameras, and bad outsiders that came with chainsaws and bulldozers, and La Patasola needed to impress the good outsiders so they would advocate against the _bad_ outsiders.

 “I _know_ you,” Grant said to Owen.  “We’ve met.” 

“Yeah,” Owen said.  “I used to be the raptor handler at Jurassic World.  I came to see you before I started there.  You told me it was suicidal.  As you can see, I didn’t listen.” 

“And you brought them _here?_ ”  Malcolm asked.  “This, all this, is you.” 

“Not me,” Owen said.  He gestured to StripeSide.  “Her.  She’s the queen raptor.”  He couldn’t hold down a smile.  “Her name is StripeSide, and she’s mine.” 

“Is she, uh, tame?” Malcolm asked. 

“No,” Owen said.  “No, she’s not.  None of them are.  You can’t tame a raptor.”

“That’s not reassuring…” Malcolm said. 

“Just trust me.  You’re safe.  None of them will touch you. as long as the queen raptor says so.  You’re safe here.”

He reached out his hand to StripeSide’s back, and pointed to Grant and Malcolm.  <These are both very important humans.>

StripeSide let out a snarl, and she raised her forehands.  Her long black talons curled and uncurled, stroking the air in front of her as she signed to him.  <Tell them they are welcome. Tell them I rule here.> 

“What was _that?_ ” Grant asked, staring at her. 

 “That’s how we talk with them,” Owen said. “We call it Raptor Sign.”

“They _talk?”_  

“She says she’s happy to meet you,” Owen said. 

“She talks,” Grant repeated, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.    “Ian, do you hear that? They talk.  They do talk!”   

 “She can’t, she _can’t_ be talking,” Malcolm said.  “Not really talking.  Animals don’t talk.  Only humans have the facility for true language.” 

Owen turned to StripeSide.  He pointed to Grant and signed, <This man knows all about the Old Ones.  And that one is the man whose books SingsAlone likes so much.  Both of these men were on the Island of Clouds at the time of the Last Battle.  They met TravelsOverWater’s mother, the first alpha.>

StripeSide looked at Grant, and pulled her neck vertically.  She blinked her eyes at Grant, and timbered as if she was very impressed. 

< Tell them they are welcome here.  But tell them I rule here!  This is important.  They must know that I rule here.  And you must tell this man that if he knows anything about the Old Ones, he must tell us all of it.>

 “She says you’re very welcome in _her_ town, and she wants you to tell her all about the Late Cretaceous,” Owen said. 

“She wants to know about the Late Cretaceous…”  Grant  wobbled suddenly.  “She wants to know about ... I need to sit down…”  He bent over, hands on his knees, as if his head was spinning, and sat down hard. 

“Why the Cretaceous?” Malcolm asked. 

“Because she’s _from_ the Cretaceous.”   Owen couldn’t help it; he grinned.  “There are a _hell_ of a lot of things you don’t know about velociraptors, Doctor Malcolm…”

Owen turned to StripeSide.  <I propose we go to the town,> he said.

<Yes,> StripeSide said, enthusiastically.  She bobbed her nose up and down, in the raptor’s attempt at a human nod.  <Tell them I command them to follow me!> 

“Let’s take a walk, and you can ask her anything you want to ask,” Owen said. 

“Drinks are on me,” Flavio said, quickly. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Grant said.  “The pack is here.” 

“Oh, _this_ isn’t the pack,” Owen said.  “This is just _a_ pack.  There are a whole lot more where I’ve come from.” 

“You mean you’ve got _more?”_

Owen grinned.  “We’ve got dozens.” 

“You’ve got dozens,” Grant said, staring at Owen.  “Dozens.  _How?_ ” 

“Follow me,” Owen said,  “and I’ll show you.” 

 


	4. The guided tour

Damien Scott followed the little group silently, not joining in with the excited chatter.  He was aware of the terrifying beasts on either side of him.  He’d read the books.  He knew that if he dared to reach for his weapons he’d probably be ripped apart in seconds.  

He’d known there would be dinosaurs. He'd been warned, but _nothing_ had prepared him for the reality. 

Those teeth … those horrible screams … their cold eyes … and the smell!  Most importantly, that smell!  He’d never smelled it before, but one breath of it had made all the hairs on Scott’s neck and arms stand up in a cold wave.  Scott had been in warzones all over the world, but that smell topped them all.  It was a dusty, musty, meaty reek.  It was the smell of a predator; a monster that _ate_ people!  It was the smell of a walking nightmare.  If he’d been here alone, he’d have done exactly what their pilot did, and bolt out of here as fast as he could.   

But Michael Stonebridge didn’t seem to care, and Scott wasn’t going to leave him behind.  Mikey seemed completely oblivious to the smell, and to Scott’s tension.  He seemed as charmed by Owen Grady as the two academics were – and they were all firing questions at him.   

 _How many are there?  Where do they live?  How did they get off the island?  How many eggs do they lay?  Where do they nest?  How does they pick mates? Do they still change sex?  Are there any left from_ _Jurassic_ _Park_ _?  How do they communicate? How did you figure out how to talk to them?_

Owen Grady walked, and talked.  Occasionally his hand rested familiarly on the blue dinosaur’s spine.  His face kept wobbling between earnest concentration and a goofy grin, as if he secretly wanted to burst out into a dance of delight.  He looked almost  as if he was _proud_ of the raptors around them. 

Their little party had started out with an honour guard of sorts, but their escort was getting bigger by the minute.  They had raptors on either side of them, and more were joining every few minutes.  It was as if the word was going out on the bush telegraph that there were interesting people here, and the raptors were running to come and look.  By the time they were in sight of the houses, there were at least twenty raptors around them – and maybe more, because they whirled around so quickly Scott couldn’t keep track of all of them.

How the fuck did Michael not notice that they were walking in the middle of a pack of dinosaurs?  _Meat-eating_ dinosaurs?  Carnivores!  He wanted to shake his partner.  Look at those claws, Michael!  Look at those teeth!  What do you think they _do_ with those teeth, Michael?  Blow up party balloons? 

And it wasn’t as if Mikey didn’t know what had happened at Jurassic Park.  He and Kerry had owned some of the books; Scott had seen them in his house.  Mikey had been glued to CNN last year when the Jurassic World disaster hit the media and the airwaves were filled with loops of pterosaurs flying down and trying to kill people.  Mikey already knew what these animals could do. He'd got on the plane to come here, knowing exactly what they were going to face here. 

But Michael seemed to have forgotten everything; forgotten his situational awareness; forgotten the mission; forgotten why they'd come here. He was staring raptly at the raptors around him as if they were unicorns.  His head was going left, right, left, right, trying to take it all in.  He was hanging on Alan Grant’s words as if he was wildly interested in palaeontology – not a hobby Scott had ever expected Michael Stonebridge to have. 

How could Mikey have read those books, and look at those claws, and not get the same cold shudders down his spine they gave Scott?  Honest to God, Scott thought, you would think the guy from the Special Boat Service would have more sense… 

“There seem to be more than I expected,” Dr Grant was saying to Owen Grady.  “How many of them are here?” 

“A few dozen,” Owen Grady said. 

“What?” Grant exclaimed.  “I thought there were only about ten!”

“No,” Grady said.  “Dr Malcolm was right all those years ago.  They _did_ get off the island.”  

“Ah, it’s good to be recognised,” Malcolm said. 

“So how many are there?”  Grant asked. 

 “I was told over a hundred.” 

“That’s a lot more than I expected,” Grant said, lowering his hat over his eyes. 

“And they’re all here, around town?”  Michael asked. 

“Not even close!” Grady said.  “They’re spread out all over Colombia, and well down into Brazil, and parts of Venezuela.  There’s not enough big game in the Amazon to feed them.  Low population densities are the only way they can support themselves.” 

“Are you sure?” Michael asked.  “Nobody’s ever seen raptors anywhere but here.” 

“They don’t _want_ to be seen,” Owen said.  “Not all raptors are interested in us.  Most of them just want to be left alone.  The ones here are the ones that like humans enough to stick around and see what happens next.” 

“How did they get here?”  Dr Grant asked. 

“You know you wrote in your book that there were four juvenile raptors hiding in the boat?”  Owen said. 

“I remember,” Grant said.  “They were found and destroyed.” 

“They weren’t the first raptors to stow away in that boat,” Grady said.  “They were the last.  Jurassic Park found out that they started with eight raptors, and ended up with thirty-seven.  But what you didn't know - what nobody knew - was that those thirty-seven weren't all the raptors on the island.  Those thirty-seven were the ones who were left."

"You never did actually get around to counting all the eggshells," Malcolm said to Grant. 

“I remember,” Grant said. 

"They got ashore, they moved inland.  They waited for a while, but then after new arrivals stopped coming ashore, the ones who escaped moved south.  Twenty years later, here we are." 

Scott frowned.  If that was so – and he remembered reading Dr Grant’s book – then a hundred raptors seemed far too low.  Somebody was lying to somebody, he guessed.  

“I told you so,” Dr Malcolm said.  “I told Hammond.  I told Gennaro.  I told _everyone_ who would listen to me.  I _knew_ animals had gotten off that island.  And here’s the proof.  _She’s_ the proof!”  He pointed the end of his cane at StripeSide. 

“It must feel good to be right, Dr Malcolm,” Michael said. 

Dr Malcolm shook his head.  “Actually, no, it’s actually terrible.  I’m always right, but nobody knows until it’s too late.  And then, you know, then there’s running, and screaming…”  

 _It must feel good to be right, Dr Malcolm_ , Scott mouthed mockingly to himself, and rolled his eyes.  

Michael looked at him, and seemed to realize for the first time that Scott wasn’t sharing his enthusiasm.  He pulled down the corners of his mouth and raised his eyebrows in an expression that meant, _Something wrong?_

Scott bugged his eyes out at him, trying to express _Are you kidding?_ and then slowly rolled his eyes to stare at the nearest dinosaur.  _Look at that thing!_

Stonebridge turned his palms upward.  Scott read the gesture as _I don’t understand why you’re upset._

Scott shook his head, and sighed. 

Mad.  Mikey was mad.  They were all mad.  This job they’d taken on was going to end badly.  Didn’t everything end badly, when dinosaurs were involved?  This job was going to go sour. They should have taken that job in Damascus instead; even a three-way civil war was less scary than dinosaurs! 

His partner was not tracking up, so Scott would have to protect both of them.  That happened.  He could protect them both.  He’d looked out for both of them in Black Bear; he could do it again.  That was what it meant, having a battle-buddy as close as Michael.  He was going to bail on this job as soon as he could peel Michael out of here. 

Dr Grant stopped, and stared. “What is that?” he said. 

Another dinosaur was coming up the road to meet them.  This one was taller than the others, and his hide was white.  Scott had never seen a white one before. 

Owen stopped, too.  “That’s Nyiragongo.” 

 _“That’s_ not a real dinosaur!” Grant said.  

The white dinosaur stopped, thick legs braced under his body.  He stood facing them, as if he’d seen them all staring at him, and had decided to stare back.  His head turned right and left, looking at them out of one red eye at a time.  His long talons curled and uncurled. 

“No, he’s a raptor, just like the others.  He's just a bit bigger than most,” Owen insisted.  

Dr Grant lowered his head, and narrowed his eyes at Owen.  “Young man, I have been looking at dinosaurs my whole life.  And I _know_ that raptors don’t have thumbs.”    

Owen sighed, and turned around.  He turned around to the blue monster, and batted something off in their sign language. 

The blue dinosaur snarled, baring all her teeth, and signed something back. 

“He’s not a full raptor.  He’s a genetically-modified hybrid,” Owen admitted.   

Damien Scott narrowed his eyes.  Now, that was weird.  If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Owen Grady had just asked for _permission_ from the dinosaur before answering Dr Grant’s question.  In spite of himself, his curiosity was piqued.  All right, maybe they could stay a few hours, and find out what the hell was going on.  This was a very strange place, he thought.  Scott _liked_ strange. 

“A hybrid of what?”  Malcolm asked. 

“Mainly velociraptor,” Owen said.  “But also some T.Rex.”   

The white dinosaur looked them up and down, and suddenly dark colours were flooding over his hide, like clouds racing over the sky.  He was changing colour.  His hide was darkening into rough blotches of dark grey and bright orange, like living lava. 

Michael Stonebridge, to Scott’s horror, said,  “Oooh!  I didn’t know they did that!”    

“And maybe a bit of Carnotaurus…” Owen added, reluctantly.  “And also some tree frog, and some cuttlefish, and I suspect also a bit of …” 

“Oh, Dionysus help us all!” Malcolm interrupted.  “Do I detect the hand of Henry Wu in this?  Tell me I’m wrong.  No, don’t tell me I’m wrong,  I am never wrong.  Henry Wu did this.”

Grant looked sour.  “He didn’t.” 

“He did,” Owen said.  “He called them the Indominus Rex.  And then we stole them.”

_“Them?”_

“There are another seven just like Nyiragongo,” Owen said.  “Three here in town.  No idea where the other five are.” 

Malcolm and Grant exchanged looks.  “Henry Wu,” Grant said.   

“Genetically-modified hybrids,” Malcolm said.  “That’s _exactly_ the sort of hare-brained stunt Henry Wu would try.  He was so excited about what he could do, he never thought for a second about whether he should.” 

“But they don’t know that they’re not raptors.  They were raised by raptors, and they think they’re just strange-looking raptors,” Owen said.  “They don’t know they’re different, and we haven’t told them yet.  They don’t need to know.” 

They had reached the town now, and Scott’s skin discovered a whole new wave of cold chills.  There were other monsters in the streets, and for the first time he saw human beings as well.  They didn’t seem to be worried by being surrounded by dinosaurs, but they were chattering and pointing at their guests. 

Okay, Scott said to himself; curiouser and curiouser.  Why was anyone still alive in this town?  The velociraptors in Grant’s book had gone out of their way to kill every human being they could catch, the second they got the chance.   The raptors in the book had hunted humans with the bloody-minded persistence of the Mongol Invasion.  You would never be able to walk around like this among lions: you'd get eaten.  Velociraptors made lions look like house-cats, but here the raptors were walking among people in broad daylight, and nobody was fussed. 

Yeah, okay, Mikey had clearly lost his marbles. The job wasn't worth it, but Scott decided he could stick around a few hours, and solve this puzzle. 

The group walked around the corner of a church, and found themselve in a broad open plaza, shaded with trees, and there was a small deputation of human beings hurrying out to meet them.  There was a man in the lead, and he came straight forward to meet Grant and Malcolm.  He was short and plump, in a cotton short-sleeved shirt. 

“Owen,” he said, stopping.  He seemed to be out of breath. 

Owen turned to Grant and Malcolm, and the big goofy grin broke out again.   “May I present Mayor Guerrero, and the Town Council,” Owen said.  “Mayor Guerrero, this is Dr Grant, and Dr Malcolm, and these other two gentlemen are …” 

“I’m Scott, this is Mr Stonebridge,” Scott said, pointing to Michael.  There wasn’t any point in using an alias.  Their faces had been all over the world’s media after their North Korean adventure.  He exchanged glances with Michael, and both of them made subtle moves to edge away from the centre of attention. 

“We’re delighted to meet you, and proud to welcome you to our little town!”  Guerrero reached out and offered his hand to Grant and Malcolm, and then Stonebridge and Scott.  “It’s an honour to have two such famous dinosaur experts here!”

“I had to see for myself if the rumours were true,” Malcolm said. 

“I never expected _this,”_ Grant said, looking around.  “So many, and so… so _tame.”_

“Oh, no, no, no!” Guerrero said, hastily waving his hand.  “You have the wrong idea, Dr Grant.  Not tame!  Never tame!  They’re here because we have mutual interests!  A shared vision!  This is the beginning of a whole new world!"

Owen cleared his throat.  He tried his best to plaster the earnest expression back over the goofy grin, but it didn’t quite stick.

 “You’re the best visitors we could have hoped for,” he said to Dr Grant,  “to tell the whole world what we’ve got in San Judas Tadeo.  If we’d known you were coming we could have prepared a proper welcome tour, but now… where should we start?  Do you want to see the school?  The hospital?  The pavilions?” 

“Refreshments first,” Guerrero said.  “They must be tired from flying!” 

“I want to see the raptors,” Grant said.  “The only thing I came here for is to see the raptors.” 

The habits of a lifetime were impossible to break.  Scott had kept his eyes ranging around the crowd during the conversation.  He stiffened when he saw a shoulder-carried  TV camera coming towards him.  “Mikey,” he hissed sideways. 

“I see it,” Michael said.  “Going right.” 

“Right behind you, buddy.” 

They edged out of the crowd – not easy when half of the crowd seemed to be dinosaurs.  It was easy to sidle through a crowd of people who were shaped like you.  Raptors were built long and low, and when one of _them_ was in your way you had to walk all the way around six feet of long stiff tail.  They’d almost reached the end of the square when a strong female voice broke into Scott’s concentration.  “Damien?”

Scott turned around.  Maggie Montroe was striding toward him, her bright eyes alive with her usual humour and mischief.  Her dark fly-away hair was loose around her face.  “Well, dip me in shit, and throw me to the Colonels,” she said.  “Damien Scott!  You got my message!”

“Maggie!” Scott said.  He let her throw her arms around him, and just because he could he picked her up off the ground, and squeezed her until she squeaked.  “It’s good to see you,” he said, releasing the hug, and dropping a kiss on her cheek. 

 “Is the rest of Section Twenty with you?” she asked, looking around. 

 “Ah, no,” Scott said. 

 _“Ha-h’m,”_ Michael cleared his throat, sliding into position behind Scott. 

“Just _this_ asshole I can’t shake off,” Scott said, jerking his thumb at Michael. 

“Michael!” Maggie said. 

“Good to meet you again, Maggie,” Michael said, nodding at her.  There wasn’t a lot of warmth between them.  Maggie thought Michael was a stiff.  Michael thought Maggie was a pest.  They put up with each other because Scott was in the middle and Scott adored them both.   

“Come in here,” Maggie said.  “It’s quiet, we can talk.” 

She led them in through the door of a small general purpose store.  It was dimly lit – the owner keeping electricity costs down – and the counter, floors and walls had been stuck and re-stuck with so many Point-of-Sale posters that the floor felt sticky under Scott’s boots.  Scott heard the chime of a small alarm, warning the shopkeeper he had customers – or shoplifters – but nobody came out to see them. 

 “You can see why I called you guys,” Maggie said to Michael.  

“I wish my wife could have seen this,” Michael said.  “She’d have been absolutely fascinated.  She liked dinosaurs.”

“I’ve got Roy out there filming footage,” Maggie said.  “We want to hit the world media in one big blitz.  Once I’ve got enough footage, I’m going to pull it all together in an expose that’s going to change everything.”

“Your biggest scoop,” Michael said.  "What you've got here, if you told me I wouldn't have believed a word."  

There was a freezer by the cash register, and Scott leaned on it to look inside.  All Scott wanted was a stiff Scotch, but he’d make do with an ice-cream.  “I don’t even _know_ what you’ve got here,” he said.  “How – and why – and why aren’t all these people here dead already?” 

“That’s why I called you guys,” Maggie said.

"You're going to have to tell us everything," Michael said. "Everything." 

Scott ran back the lid of the freezer and reached in.  The ice inside nipped at him, but his fingers found a plastic sandwich bag.  He raised the packet closer to his face, because it couldn’t really be what it looked like, and he wanted to be sure.  “Curiouser and curi –.”  His voice broke in a strangle croak.  It _was_ what it looked like.  It was a rat.  It was dead, deep frozen, and dipped in chocolate.  He could see tiny dead paws through the frosty plastic packet. 

“What the _hell_ is _this?_ ”

Michael and Maggie spun around to look at him. 

“It’s a chocolate-dipped frozen rat,” Maggie said, as if it was a stupid question.  “Put it back, it’s not for you.” 

“For fuck’s sake, _why?”_   Scott shook the plastic bag with the rat-shaped Thing. 

“It's for the raptors!” she said.  “It’s one of Flavio’s bright ideas.”

“But _why-y?”_  

“Velociraptors like chocolate,” Maggie said. 

“It was in the book,” Michael said.  “Didn’t you read the book?” 

“Did I read the book,” Scott repeated, morosely.  “Did _you_ read the book?” 

He opened the freezer door, held out the disgusting thing between finger and thumb, and dropped it back into the depths where it belonged.  He slammed the freezer door closed, and turned his back on the freezer.  He had completely lost his appetite for ice-cream. 

“People around here are crazy about the raptors,” Maggie said.  

“Are they really talking?” Michael said.  

“They don’t just talk,” Maggie said.  She turned, leaning back against the counter, and smiled at Michael.  “They read and write too.”

“No!”  Michael said.

“They do, too!”

“Now, this I have to see,” Michael said.  “Scott, I _told_ you coming here was a good idea.” 

“Yeah, _no.”_  

“We’ve been filming them for weeks, and they’re fascinating,” Maggie said.  “Their culture – their society – their language – their everything.  When we’re ready to hit the media, it’s going to be the biggest discovery since … I don’t know, name a scientific discovery?” 

“Like first contact with aliens,” Michael said. 

“Yeah,” Scott said.  “And we all know how well _that_ works out in the movies.” 

“That’s why I called you guys,” Maggie said, looking between Scott and Michael.  “We can’t have this place turn into a monster movie!  We want to get legal recognition of the raptors as an intelligent species,  but it’s going to take time, and the problem is we’re not alone out here.  All this area used to be ruled by the Gomez cartel.”

“La Leona,” Scott said.  “Emilia Gomez, the Lioness.” 

“You’ve heard of her?” Maggie asked.  

"Yeah, we've heard of her," Scott said, without saying anything else. 

"I didn't know she was that well known outside Colombia," Maggie said. "Miguel Gomez started the family business, but he and his brother both got shot a couple of years ago. Their little sister Emilia took over. She rules this land now.  And she does not like having the raptors here.  As long as there are dinosaurs in San Judas Tadeo, the cartel is too afraid to set foot here.  She’s lost her control over these people.  She’ll try to kill the raptors if she can.”

“Yeah, how ‘bout that?” Scott raised his eyebrows and rolled his head toward Michael.

What they were not telling Maggie was that they were both broke. They were acknowledged now as the best two covert-operators in the world - which meant they were also by default the two least employable covert-operators in the world. Scott&Stonebridge Security had not had a contract in a solid year. Instead, Michael had been offered a book deal. _A book deal!_ It didn't really matter what they thought about dinosaurs. They were mercenaries now. They needed a job, and they had to take whatever job was on offer, whether they liked it or not. 

“That’s good enough,” Maggie said.  “If anyone can save the raptors, it’s you two.  You guys are the best in the world.” 

“We were never _that_ good,” Michael warned. 

“Nope,” Scott said.  “Just the most lucky.  Mags, I’ll drink to that, if you can find whisky without a rat in it."

"You sure you're ready to jump down the rabbit-hole, Scott?"

"Yeah," Scott said.  "Why the fuck not?  The bottom is already looking real interesting.”

 

* * *

 

 

“This town is about a hundred and ten years old,” Virgilio Guerrero said.  “This place is as far up the river as you can get without portaging your boat, so this is as far as the first missionaries got.  Today, we’ve got a lot of _campesinos_ here who have been pushed off their farms because of violence.  Times are hard, but they’re looking better now.”

“We’ve got velociraptors here now,” Flavio said smugly at Guerrero’s side.  “Everything looks better with dinosaurs.” 

“And this is our clinic,” Guerrero said, as he walked up to the front door of the small hospital.  “MSF-sponsored as you see.  And this is Dr Somersby…”

“Call me Claire,” Dr Somersby said, walking forward and reaching out her hand to shake Alan Grant’s hand, and then Dr Malcolm’s hand.  

“Claire,” Malcolm smiled, shaking her hand, and holding onto it a little too long.  “Delighted to make your acquaintance.” 

“Likewise,” Claire said, retrieving her hand and turning to Grant.  “Come inside?” 

Owen followed.  The small hall/waiting room of the hospital wasn’t big enough for all of them together.  The waiting benches were wood, and plain, and there were old posters for TB awareness and Know Your Status pressed to the walls.  There was a small scrum at the front door as three raptors at once decided to wedge themselves into the door.  StripeSide whipped her head around and snapped at them.  Owen didn’t know what she said to them, but the three youngsters abruptly thought better and stayed outside. 

“Dr Somersby came here as part of MSF’s TB programme a few years ago,” Mayor Guerrero explained, as Grant and Malcolm looked around.  “But since our clinic had no doctor, she stayed after the programme closed.  I don’t know where we’d be without her.”

“Virgilio!  You make it sound as if I do all my work myself!” Somersby protested.  “I have Carlo, and Rosa, and Pablito, and now I  have SnailEater.” 

“SnailEater?” 

“Him,” Owen said, pointing at SnailEater. 

Grant jumped in surprise to find that a raptor had come up silently behind him.  SnailEater was standing half in the room, his long tail poking down the central corridor of the clinic where the two little wards were.  He saw Owen’s gesture, and raised all the quills along the back of his neck. 

StripeSide snapped her teeth at him, as if he’d said something insolent that the humans couldn’t hear.  SnailEater twisted his neck away submissively, but didn’t give ground.  The clinic was ‘his’ place.  He’d been trying his best to court Dr Somersby for three weeks. 

“Weird name for a dinosaur,” Malcolm said. 

“He thinks eating snails will help keep his feathers glossy,” Owen said.  “The Namers started calling him that, and it stuck.  He’s very vain.” 

“What’s wrong with him?” Malcolm asked, looking at SnailEater. 

“Nothing!” Somersby said.  “He works here.”

“He _what?”_

“Raptors can see with the naked eye things that we can only see with equipment  – expensive equipment that we don’t have.  Temperature, blood pressure, pulse anomalies, not to mention the fact that they can smell bacterial infections, cancers…”  

Owen found his hand trailing to his stomach, where he’d been shot just a few weeks ago.  It was like living with your own personal walking talking MRI – an MRI that didn’t hesitate to tell you to shut up and get back into bed – but it was effective.  

“Fascinating,” Malcolm said.  He looked at SnailEater, who promptly raised all his feathers along the length of his neck.  “Yes, you,” Malcolm said to him.  “You’re fascinating.”

<He likes you,> Owen signed to SnailEater. 

SnailEater looked very pleased with himself.  He arched his neck, and his feathers lifted again, like a satisfied cockatiel.    <Of course he does,> he signed.  <Look at these feathers.  These are very fine feathers.> 

“I thought you were treating dinosaurs here,” Grant said. 

“I would if I could,  but I’m not a vet, and I have only one medical textbook to go on.”  She reached up behind her to her bookcase, and snagged a broken-spined copy of _Harding’s Textbook of Veterinary Internal Medicine: Diseases of Dinosauria_.  She plumped it down on the waiting-room table and opened it in front of her.  “ _Harding’s Dinosauria_ is all I’ve got, but it’s very out-of-date.  The anatomy chapters are useful, but there’s nothing in here about egg-binding, or mineral deficiences from outsized clutches, or … well, EatsPlants.”

“Jurassic World has promised to send us a revised edition,” Owen said. 

“As far as I know, there are – Hey, there’s EatsPlants!  Virgilio, grab him before he gets away!” 

EatsPlants was burbling happily to himself as he wandered down the corridor.  He was investigating the rubber baseboard that ran down the corridor with his forehands, picking at the rubber with his talons as if wondering how good it might taste.  He didn’t seem to have noticed the strangers.

Virgilio Guerrero blocked his way, and EatsPlants looked up with a surprised little warble.  “Hello, _Niño_ ,” Virgilio said, and reached down.  He wrapped both arms around EatsPlants’s belly, and lifted him bodily off his feet.  EatsPlants went _‘Murrrp’_ as he was lifted off the ground, his hind feet wiggling. 

“Where do you want him?” 

“Pop him on the table over here.” 

Virgilio carried EatsPlants against his chest, the little raptor’s tail slapping against his trousers.  EatsPlants didn’t struggle, but his little seahorse head rotated on his long neck to blink at them curiously over Virgilio’s shoulder.  Virgilio had interrupted his private little world, and he’d noticed suddenly that there were strangers here. 

“This is EatsPlants,” Owen said.  He set his hand on EatsPlants’s neck, scratching gently at his scutes.  “EatsPlants is the exception that proves the rule.  EatsPlants is … he’s … well, he’s special.”

“Special?”  Grant queried. 

EatsPlants turned his head back to Owen’s hand, and gnawed at Owen’s fingers with his little needle teeth.  That was behaviour that could _not_ be encouraged, and Owen batted his muzzle aside with the heel of his palm and signed,  <No!> 

“His egg hatched a week early,” Owen explained, “and he’s never managed to catch up with his siblings.  Premature exposure to oxygen, I think.  How old do you think he is?”

“Three months?”  Grant guessed.  “His teeth have come in.” 

Somersby leaned forward, and scratched EatsPlants’ little sea-horse nose, and he warbled.  “He’s eight months old.  Raptors are _supposed_ to be lethal at eight months, but he’s half the length he should be, and a third of the weight according to _Harding’s Dinosauria.”_

EatsPlants seemed to be enjoying the attention he was getting.  His urge to chew something had been deflected. 

“He’s got a very sweet nature,” Somersby said, “Which is a _good_ thing, because he definitely doesn’t have the capacity to tell right from wrong.” 

“Mentally, he’s still a hatchling,” Owen said.  “He still chews, which raptors usually stop after their teeth come in.  He can talk, and he can sign – but most of the time he just repeats whatever you say to him.”

“Echolalia,” Somersby said. 

“He’ll never hunt for himself,” Owen said.  “Never leave his parents’ pack, never form his own dyad.”

“You’re telling me you’ve got a disabled raptor?”  Malcolm asked. 

“Well, we’re not going to find him in the DSM-IV,” Somersby said.  “But basically, yes.” 

“But that’s why EatsPlants is so important,” Owen said.  “See, if you look at him _by himself_ , he’s actually pretty smart.  He can talk.  He can count.  He can write his own name.  _By himself,_ he’s smarter than dolphins or whales, smarter than primates.  But he’s _still_ not as smart as the other raptors.”

“With great intelligence comes the risk of great intellectual disability,”  Virgilio said. 

Owen nodded.  “This is the gap between raptors and the rest of the animal world.  EatsPlants is smarter, by himself, than any other creature in the world – but he’s not _ever_ going to be as smart as all the other raptors…”

“Wait, hang on a minute,” Malcolm said.  “Back up.  What do you mean – he can _write his own name?”_

Owen looked at Virgilio, and Virgilio grinned. 

“There’s something else you have to see,” Virgilio said.  

 

* * *

 

 

StripeSide came out of the healing-house.  She halted on the cement ramp up to the door, raised herself to her full height, and turned her head from side to side.  “We will now go to the teaching-house!” she announced to the group at large, cough-barking for emphasis.  She jumped off the cement and bounded away. 

“They are going to show the Great Project to TalksToBones and TalksToNumbers,” Copper said, with satisfaction. 

The group moved off, and the three Cloud People followed them. 

FirstHuman and StripeSide were at the centre of the crowd.  RoundAlpha was talking, and waving his hands, and pointing here and there, and FirstHuman was translating questions from the two visitors.  BitterTooth had provisionally named them TalksToBones and TalksToNumbers.  They were both already looking a bit dazed, FireMountain thought. 

The teaching-house was a long flat building with a corrugated iron roof.  The teacher of the children had an office in the centre, and the two outspread arms of the building had two large rooms where the human children learned to read.  The doors opened straight onto the dirt yard where the children played. 

FireMountain ducked his head to follow SnailEater into the big room.  The sides of the door bumped against his hips, and he walked through before turning, to give his tail enough turning space. 

This room was large, but it was already crowded.    He wasn’t the only one who wanted to relish an outsider’s reaction to seeing the Great Project for the first time.  There were enough humans and Real People already in the room for there to be a crowd between FireMountain and FirstHuman.  But FireMountain was already one of the largest of the Real People.  He stood up to his full height, his head just under the ceiling.  Across the room, he saw StripeSide pick up a piece of chalk. 

Behind him he heard a thump, and a hiss of irritation.  He turned his head to look behind him. Copper was backing away from the door, shaking her head.  Her bloodheat flashed, “I am very angry.”  She hunched her shoulders and stepped forward again.  Her head and shoulders fitted through the doorway, but her hips banged into the sides of the door.  She tried to twist herself around,  but she was too wide. 

“What is taking so long?”  WoodAsh asked from outside.  She sounded annoyed.  “It is only a door!” 

“I don’t fit!” 

“You fitted in the healing-house.”

“This door is smaller!”

FireMountain turned his body around, careful of his long tail.  “Try standing up taller, and squeezing your hips together,” he suggested. 

“Really?”  Copper snarled.  She stood up to her full height, and he saw that her head was higher than the door.  She was taller than the roof. “Like this?” she snarled angrily at him.  

“Step aside, sister, step aside and I shall show you how this is done,” WoodAsh said.  “Step aside, there.” 

Copper backed away.  “You are bigger than me, so I should like to see _you_ fit where I do not!” 

Woodash stooped to the door, and looked at FireMountain under the top of the doorway.  “ _You_ fitted,” she accused. 

“I squeezed,” FireMountain admitted.  It did not look as if WoodAsh was going to fit either.  She was even bigger than Copper. 

But she was not going to admit defeat.  She thrust her head and neck through the door, and gripped the sides of the doorway with her forehands as if she was going to pull herself through.  Her shoulders bumped the sides – and her hips did not fit at all.  She snarled and twisted her head, as if she was going to bite the sides of the door.

“WoodAsh!” SnailEater barked at her.  “What are you doing?” 

“We don’t fit!” WoodAsh complained to him. 

“Well, you can’t break the door down!”  SnailEater snapped his teeth at her, raising all his feathers in irritation.  “If you do not fit, you do not fit!” 

“I used to fit!”  she complained. 

“Don’t disrespect me, young one!  You are too big for human doors!  Go away, and watch through the window!”   

Woodash snapped her teeth, annoyed, but she would not challenge her elder.  SnailEater was male, and smaller than her.  If he head-butted her, _he_ would go rolling – but he was an adult, and she was only a yearling.  She backed away from the doorway, defeated, her bloodheat in a rage. 

FireMountain decided it would be discreet – tactful – diplomatic – _not_ to stand here  as a visible reminder to his sisters that they had been defeated by a door.  He lowered his head and ducked out, and WoodAsh whirled around and stomped away from the building. 

“Windows?” FireMountain suggested, and they trooped around to the side of the building. 

“Windows,” Copper agreed. 

There were advantages to being much taller than anyone else.  They could stand on the ground below the windows and see inside without having to stretch their necks up.  SnoresLoudly noticed them watching, and opened the windows. StripeSide and the strange humans were having a conversation on the chalkboard.  The Great Project was paying off all the hard work that StripeSide  had put into it.  FireMountain watched, fascinated, as the words of the humans’ song filled up the board – but he was soon distracted by his sisters. 

“How is it possible that we are now too big to fit?” Copper complained. 

“We’re the biggest of the Real People,” FireMountain said. 

“Speak for yourself,” Copper snapped at him. 

“I am speaking for myself,” he said.  “I am not finished growing yet either, and soon I will be as big as you are.  We are still growing.” 

“Somebody has to be the biggest,” WoodAsh said. 

“But look at us,” Copper said.  “We’re bigger and heavier than _anyone_ else.”  She twisted her head to stare back along the length of her body.  She was seven strides long from snout to tail, and she was the same age as FireMountain.  She was going to grow at least another stride in length.  She was going to be taller at the spine than a human standing upright – and already her hips were wider than a human door. 

MoonRain jogged past, exactly on time, and the three Clouds turned their heads and watched her.  She went around the corner of the building, and a moment later appeared inside the window, moving over to join SnoresLoudly.  She’d fitted inside without any trouble – and MoonRain was one of the tallest of the Real People. 

“We’re different,” Copper said, looking at MoonRain.   

“Don’t be silly!” WoodAsh said, and snapped her teeth at her sister’s neck. 

 “We are different,” FireMountain said, agreeing with Copper.  “Look at us.  We’re bigger than everyone else.  Look at our faces.  Our faces are different.” 

“And our eyes are a different colour,” Copper said.  “Ours are red.  And we have an extra talon.  No-one else has an extra talon.”  She raised her forehands and flexed her talons, so that they could all see the fourth talon on the inside of her fore-arm, opposite the three normal talons. 

“And we can change colour,” FireMountain said.  He had been wearing his own colours, the rich orange-and-grey of molten rock, but now he turned the colour of the wall of the teaching-house – peeling blue paint and streaks of tropical mould. 

“They can change colour too!” WoodAsh said.

“But not like we can,” Copper said.  “They just go dull if they’re feeling sick.  They don’t change from one colour to another.  StripeSide is not going to turn brown.” 

“Look at us,” FireMountain said.  “We’re different.  The way EatsPlants is different.” 

“I am nothing like EatsPlants!” WoodAsh snapped, offended. 

“Maybe,” Copper said, speaking quietly,  “maybe we’re not Real People at all.  Maybe we’re something else.” 

“Maybe that’s why they call us the Cloud People,” FireMountain said.  “Maybe they’re the Real People, and we’re … _not.”_  

“Maybe that’s why StripeSide doesn’t like us.” 

“No, she doesn’t mind us,” FireMountain said. 

“She doesn’t mind _you,”_ Copper said.  “She doesn’t like us, and you know it.”

“She scares me.” 

“This is silly,” WoodAsh said.  “We’re Real People.  Of course we are!  What else could we be?  What else _is_ there?”

 

* * *

 

 

As the sun set, Owen led his guests from Virgilio Guerrero’s house, where they’d had dinner, and took them to Flavio’s new ‘hotel.' 

The ‘Hotel Dinosaurios’ was the actually the abandoned convent.  Flavio had co-opted some of his nieces and nephews to help him clean, paint and staff the place, although it was fairly obvious that the building had been abandoned recently.  Owen didn’t know the details of why all the nuns had left, but he knew there had to be a reason nobody else had moved into the old building afterwards.  Mayor Guerrero had told him in private that if Flavio could reclaim this place and erase the memories of what Gomez had done here, then as far as Guerrero was concerned he could call his hotel anything he liked. 

Owen took Grant and Malcolm to their rooms.  Flavio had given his guests the ‘Deluxe Suites,’ which just meant they had actual beds instead of hammocks.  The rooms still reeked of paint.  

“Sorry about this place,” Owen said, as they walked into Grant’s room.  “It’s only been a hotel for about a week.” 

“Hotel Dinosaurios,” Malcolm said.  “Well, at least this one doesn’t have, ah, steel bars on the skylights, and reinforced glass on the windows, so we’ve got that going for us, which is nice.”

Owen glanced up at the ceiling, but he already knew there were no skylights in the old convent. 

“Bathroom is down the hall, but don’t bother asking for hot water.  This building used to be a convent – there isn’t any.” 

Grant sat down in the room’s only chair, and put his head in his hands.   “The last time I felt like this, I’d just seen my first live brachiosaurus.”   

“You.”  Malcolm swept up the end of his cane, and prodded him with it.  “Take an aspirin before your brain explodes.  You don’t want an attack of you-know-what.”

“Stop poking me,” Grant complained, batting the cane aside with his arm.  “I take my aspirin before I go to bed.”

Owen was getting a feeling for their relationship.  They had nothing in common, but they were yoked to each other for all time by the events of Jurassic Park, and they  had learned to get along. 

Grant leaned back in his chair.   “How did everyone at Jurassic Park miss this?” he  said.  “Hammond, Muldoon, everybody!  The velociraptors talk. They _talk.”_

“Well, I know why nobody at Jurassic Park noticed,” Malcolm said.  “Nobody was paying attention.  Hammond thought that all complexity could be controlled, that you could account for every single variable, and have a completely closed park that ran by itself.  Most of the staff there were either button-pushers, or broom-pushers.  Nobody with more than two brain cells was watching the _animals._   John Hammond,” he added darkly, “was a moron.” 

“Except that I missed it too,” Owen said.  “And I was actually hired to look.  We didn’t know what to look for.  We’re used to looking for intelligence in animals that think _like_ us – apes, dogs, and dolphins – but dinosaurs and mammals are too different.  65 million years of evolution has taken us in different directions.  We literally can’t hear each other communicating.”

“Those vocalisations,” Grant said. 

“The vocalisations mean nothing,” Owen said.  “Sound means as much to them as changes in skin temperature mean to us.  Your average pet dog can make out about a hundred and sixty-five words.  The raptors – forty words, max, and even _then_ only if the same person says it in the same rhythm and the same pitch every single time.  They’re deaf compared to us.”

“But then how are they doing it?”  

“You know how palaeontologists have been arguing for decades about the purpose of the antorbital fenestra in dinosaur skulls?  That hole, right about here?”  Owen gestured to his own face, where an antorbital fenestra would have been if he had one. 

“Evolved to house a fluid sac,” Grant declared, “in order to lighten the skull without losing bite strength.” 

“It’s not about weight,” Owen shook his head.  “They run a small electrical charge through the fluid in there, and use it to communicate.  That’s their language.  To them, we’re just making noises.  But to us, they’re just making static.” 

“Impossible,” Malcolm said, brusquely. 

“You were at Jurassic Park,” Owen pointed out.  “And Isla Sorna!  You both wrote about the terrible radio signals.  Did you know Jurassic World still uses landlines to this day because radios aren’t reliable on the island?”

 “How would something like that evolve?” Grant asked. 

“I don’t know,” Owen said.  “But I do know it died out with them during the KT collapse.  No extant animal today uses their antorbital fenestrae to communicate.  They all died out during the KT collapse.  All of them.” 

“And left the world open to mammals, who communicate with sound,” Grant said.  “Every species that used natural radio to communicate went extinct.” 

“That’s why we’re in a terrible position here,” Owen said.  “The dinosaurs are extinct.  Extinct animals have no rights – not even the same rights as extant animals.  That’s the law.”

“Except that they’re not real dinosaurs,” Grant said.  “You know that, right?  They’re genetically-engineered theme-park monsters, not dinosaurs.  Henry Wu made them in a test-tube for a theme park.  If they were real, they would look like Deinonychus, but John Hammond didn’t want reality, he wanted entertainment.” 

“But that’s the other half of the Catch-22,” Owen said.  “If they’re real dinosaurs, then legally they have no rights because they went extinct naturally sixty-five million years ago.  But if they’re _not_ real dinosaurs, InGen still owns them, the way Monsanto owns RoundUp-Ready soybeans.  InGen made them.  They’re stuck.  That’s why we need your help here.  We need to argue that the raptors are intelligent.  There are movements afoot to get official legal personhood for chimpanzees and whales.  We need to argue that they’re intelligent, and a special case needs to be made for them.  Whatever laws we’ve got for animal rights, the raptors need a whole new level of precedent, just for them.” 

“You’re wrong,” Malcolm said to Owen, bluntly.  “You still think you’re arguing for animal intelligence.” 

“How can you argue that they’re not intelligent?” Owen said, surprised. 

“You’re not hearing what I’m saying,” Malcolm said. 

“I heard what you said, and I can’t believe my ears.  You’ve just _seen_ what they can do!” 

“You’re thinking about this backwards.  You’re not arguing for animal intelligence at all.”   

 “That’s exactly what I am doing!” Owen burst out.  “The raptors are intelligent.  You’ve seen proof.  They’re smarter than dolphins or whales – smarter than any of the great apes.” 

Malcolm shook his head.  “You’re wrong; you’re so wrong.  You’re so close to the problem you can’t see it.  You can’t see the forest for the trees.  Can’t see the raptors for the, ah, the dinosaurs,”  and Malcolm smiled at his own analogy.  “No, you see, you _think_ you have to argue for them being Ramen instead of Varelse, when really you have to argue for them being Varelse, and not Ramen.”

“What?” Owen asked, confused. 

“You know what you’re done here?” Malcolm said, and then answered his own question.  “No, of course you don’t.  You’ve gone and changed the Drake Equation.  Beyond all, ah, beyond any question, more than one intelligent species has arisen on this one tiny little planet.  Intelligent life had actually arisen _twice,_ on the same place, on the same mediocre ball of rock, the same pale blue dot, separated by millions of years.” 

“You’re talking gibberish,” Grant said. 

“Ah, that’s what they all say,” Malcolm said. “We’ve wondered why we never met another intelligent species in the galaxy.  It’s Fermi’s Paradox.  And you’ve solved it, haven’t you?  Oh yes.  Maybe it takes two to tango.  Maybe you need two species to answer Fermi’s Paradox.  Two intelligent species evolving at the same time would exterminate each other long before they could reach the stars, but here we are, thanks to Henry Wu.”

“Care to explain for someone who’s not a mathematics professor?” Grant asked. 

“No,  I’ve had enough explaining the obvious to stupid people for one night.”  He got to his feet abruptly.  He put his cane down, and limped to the door without looking back.  “No need to argue, I know I’m right.  I’ve just answered Fermi’s paradox and I feel _great._   I need to call Neil DeGrasse-Tyson; he and I have little wager going.”

Owen looked at Grant, but Grant just shook his head.  Owen could tell by the tight expression on Grant’s lips that Grant too was getting tired of listening to Malcolm talk about how clever he was.  He watched the door close behind Malcolm’s shiny leather jacket. 

Grant shook his head.  “You know, I would probably like him more if he wasn’t such a _prick.”_

Owen laughed. 

“I’m going to take an aspirin, make a couple of phone calls, and get my head down,” Grant said.   

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Owen said.  He nodded to Grant.  “Good night, Dr Grant.  I’ll be around in the morning.” 

“Good night,” Grant said.

 

* * *

 

 

Owen knocked, and opened the door to Virgilio Guerrero’s office.  He looked inside.    “Virgilio?”

Mayor Guerrero looked up from his desk.  “Owen!  Come in, _amigo!”_

Owen walked in, dropped his hat down on the table, and sat down opposite Guerrero.  

“So, what do you think?”

“Reckon it’s going well,” he said.  “No running and screaming.”

“I think they’re impressed,” Guerrero said. 

“Yeah – a whole lot more impressed than the _first_ time they met a velociraptor, I bet.  I think they liked EatsPlants.” 

 “The Andaqui elders are talking about having a dance tomorrow.” 

“A dance?”

“A rain dance, they say.” 

“A rain dance in the rain forest?” Owen said, wryly. 

 _“El Niño,”_ Guerrero said, with a shrug.  “The fishing is good when the river is so low, but irrigation is getting harder.”

“And of course, any excuse to show the visitors that we’re all one big happy family.”

“We will make a politician out of you eventually, Owen,” Guerrero said.  “The elders agree - this is our big chance!  Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm – the two most famous writers about Jurassic Park!  If we can get them on our side, it’ll go a long way to undoing the harm of those damned books.”

“And we need all the good press we can get,” Owen said, sombrely.  “When InGen realizes their animals are here, they’re going to want to get them back.” 

That would mean war, because the raptors would never allow themselves to be carried back to the place they called the Island of Clouds.  They knew all too well what had happened to the first pack, after TravelsOverWater and her siblings escaped.  And war, he thought, would mean extermination.  If InGen rolled up, with military technology, and poisons, and bio-weapons, and the support of the world’s governments, the raptors would be wiped out.  He felt a shiver of dread at the idea. 

“It won’t happen,” Guerrero said.  “We won’t _allow_ it to happen.” 

Owen shook himself.  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“You get this _look_ ,” Guerrero said, with a shrug.  “Like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.  But you’re _not_ carrying that weight alone.  We’re all in this together now.  _And_ we’ve still got friends outside of Colombia.  We got a message from Jurassic World this afternoon.” 

Owen was communicating with Claire again via Guerrero’s office.  He’d been in the rainforest for a year; he was totally out of the loop, and Claire was keeping him informed about what InGen was up to. 

“An email?” 

Guerrero pushed his chair away from his desk.  “Come.” 

Owen walked around the desk.  Guerrero pulled up the email, and Owen leaned down over the desk and read over Guerrero’s shoulder. 

INGEN HAS SENT YOU A SPY TO RECONNOITRE FOR A STRIKE TEAM.

STILL WORKING ON MASRANI AS HARD AS I CAN. BE CAREFUL.

XXX

“I think that XXX is for you,” Guerrero said, amiably. 

“Yeah,” Owen said.  He’d asked Maggie out a couple of times, but he felt a flush of warmth at the sight of the little XXX.  They’d been good together, for those brief days.  Maggie was great, but Claire Dearing was special.  “Can I write back quick?”

“Of course.”  Guerrero got up, and wandered around the corner of his desk.  He sat down in the chair Owen had just left and leaned back in it, his hands over his stomach.  His feet kicked back and forth under the chair.  “Ah, look at that.  Local government from the other side of the desk.  Everything on this side looks so _peaceful.”_  

Owen clicked reply on the email, and typed quickly. 

HI GORGEOUS.

I WILL PASS THE WARNING TO SS.  WE'LL KEEP OUR EYES OPEN.

GOOD NEWS!  ALAN GRANT AND IAN MALCOLM ARRIVED THIS AFTERNOON. 

XXX

“You saw those two guys who arrived with Grant and Malcolm this afternoon?”  Owen asked Guerrero, clicking Send on the email, and sitting back. 

“Damien and Michael,” Guerrero agreed.  _“Si,_ I saw them.  I thought they would fly out but they’re still here.”

“They’re soldiers, or I’ve never seen one,” Owen said.  He leaned back in the chair, mimicking Guerrero’s posture.  “They’ve got to be the spies.  They’re exactly the kinds of guys InGen Security hires.”

Guerrero rubbed his moustache with his fingers.  “Could be.  They said to Flavio they were travel agents looking to open a new route into exciting new territory.”

“Travel agents!”  Owen snorted with laughter.  “If _those_ two are travel agents, I’m Steve Irwin.  I saw guys like that in the Navy.  They’ve got ‘special ops’ written all over them.  Hard-asses.”

“We’ll keep an eye on them.” 

“I want them gone,” Owen said.  “I don’t want an agent provocateur anywhere near the raptors.  Things right now are just too delicate.”

Guerrero rolled his head back, and stared at the ceiling of his office.  He steepled his fingers over his stomach. 

“What?” Owen asked. 

“Well…”

“Go on?” 

“Have you noticed Cristian, and Ash…?” 

Owen nodded, and sighed.  “Yeah, I know what you’re asking, but I don’t know.  It could be, but it might not.” 

If Vic Hoskins and Henry Wu could have seen the people that velociraptors chose to bond with, they would have changed their minds real fast about using them like  military dogs.  Henry Wu had claimed that the Clouds already had military handlers lined up to train them, but Wu hadn’t known that the raptors themselves had the ultimate choice.  StripeSide had chosen Owen, sure – but WingWatch had chosen Lowery Cruthers, of all people.  BitterTooth had chosen garrulous Carlo.  Now, it looked like Ash was choosing Cristian Guerrero.  Owen didn’t know what the raptors saw in them – but he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t military skill.

Guerrero sighed.  “He’s with her now, you know.  He asked if he could stay with her tonight.  She doesn’t fit inside the house any more.”

“He won’t come to any harm,” Owen said.  “All the Clouds like him.”

“I know they won’t hurt him.  But that’s not what worries me.  He’s only twelve.”

“Maria was only twelve when she met TravelsOverWater,” Owen said. 

She’d been the first person to bond with a raptor.  Others had followed her – including her cousin Jorge – but Maria had been the first.  Sometimes Owen wondered what Maria’s home life was like, that she’d been willing to leave her home to wander in the forest with monsters that she couldn’t even name. 

“I worry about him,” Guerrero said.  “What would his mother say if she could see him, riding his bike with a couple of dinosaurs for company?” 

“Look,” Owen said, “There are only two outcomes, right?  Either it’s a phase,  or it’s a career.  That’s what my grandfather said to my parents when I said I wanted to work with animals.  Either he’ll grow out of it, and he’ll be fine, or he won’t, and he’ll still be fine.”

“You have such worries for your children,” Guerrero said, and Owen sensed he was only half talking to him.  “You hope they’ll grow up and be happy, but at the same time, you hope they’ll be … ordinary.  Ordinary is safe, and secure.  I never expected velociraptors.  Velociraptors are the exact _opposite_ of ordinary… I can’t see him go off and be with them, and not worry.” 

“He’ll be okay,” Owen said.  “He’s a smart kid, Virgilio.   He got away from Pedro.  He’s tougher than he …”

There was a sound at the door.  The doorhandle turned, and the door opened.  StripeSide put her head in, sliding her long head and neck between the gap, and snaked it around to stare at Owen. 

He was in the wrong chair.  That was wrong.  She blinked her eyes, and pushed the door open. 

“Blue,” he said, and stood up. 

She came into the room, her whole long reptilian body sliding in, and turned carefully so that her long tail did not knock any of the furniture.  She was almost Owen’s height, but she was built long and low.  She had to watch her tail, and restrain her movements, or she would smash the furniture.  Velociraptors didn’t belong indoors, any more than they belonged in cages. 

She cocked her neck and warbled at him in greeting.  <I greet you!> she signed. 

<I greet you,> he replied, walking around the desk.  She pushed her face at him, asking him for a caress, and he reached up his hands to meet her.  He cupped his palms under her snout and lowered his face to her nostrils. 

“Atta girl,” he said, aware that she couldn’t understand his words but knew his tone. 

She breathed on him, affectionately. 

He stood back, freeing her nose, and she swung her long arched neck to face Guerrero.  She dipped her nose to him in greeting, and Guerrero gave a little bow back. 

Guerrero was in charge of San Judas Tadeo, StripeSide was in charge of La Patasola, and the two of them were learning to work together.  StripeSide, to Owen’s surprise, respected Guerrero as another alpha. Guerrero was short, and plump, and spoke in a high voice.  He tended to give speeches in something of the Mustafa Kemal style, as if he was trying to address the ceiling without employing his diaphragm.  And yet the queen raptor recognised short squeaky Guerrero as her equal. 

<We have received a message from the Island of Clouds,> Owen signed. 

She turned her head.  <Clarify?>

<My friend has sent us warning that the WhiteCoatPeople have sent an observer of malevolent purpose here,> he said. 

She said nothing. 

<You know what an observer is?> he asked.  He thought he was using the right sign.  <He observes us, and reports back on our actions to our enemies.>

<I know what observing is,> she signed.  <We observe our prey before we hunt.  The WhiteCoatPeople have sent someone to hunt us.  Who is it?>

He noticed her killing-claws retract, and tap a few times on the floor – an indication of sudden anger.   Their body language was so different to human that it had taken him years to recognise the significance of quietly retracting those claws.  Their weapons were their killing-claws, not their teeth.  Snapping and snarling meant nothing – but quietly picking up that killing-claw was a warning. 

<I know not.>

Tap-tap-tap went the killing-claw.  She twisted her head up and stared at the window, thinking.  She made the deep creaking sound he had nicknamed ‘timbering.’  _Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom…_

<There are four strangers here,> she said.  <TalksToNumbers, TalksToBones, and the two who do not yet have names.>

<I suspect the nameless ones.>

<One of them was very afraid today,> she said. 

<Afraid?> He repeated the sign, surprised.  <I did not see that.>

She turned her head and poked him gently in the centre of his chest with the end of her nose. 

<Humans,> she signed.  <You cannot control your own bloodheat.  You can lie with your bodies, and your voices, but ever and for ever your bloodheat will tell the truth.>

<This is true.>

<He was afraid.  He could hide it from you, but he could not hide it from us.>

<Both of them are dangerous.>

She blinked her eyes.  <I will have the Clouds watch them.  They can do nothing while they are watched.  There are no eggs here.  We will watch them.  They cannot  do anything.> 

<I don’t trust them,> Owen signed.  <Danger should be destroyed.>

<It would bring more danger to the Pack to destroy the informant when TalksToBones and TalksToNumbers are watching,> she signed.  <We need them, do we not?  So we will observe the observers, and we will learn what they are about.  If they are dangerous, I will send them away.> 

 “What’s she saying?” Guerrero asked.  His command of Raptor Sign was limited to a few friendly greetings.  He’d gone back to his own chair, and watched the silent conversation between Owen and StripeSide like a spectator at a boxing match. 

“I told her about our spy.” 

“What does she say?”

“She also thinks it’s the two young guys – Damien and Michael – but she’s going to have the Clouds keep an eye on them and find out what they’re up to first.” 

“She plays the long game,” Guerrero said.  “If Claire Dearing replies I’ll let you know.” 

“Yeah,” Owen said.  He rested his hand on StripeSide’s blue neck. 

“It’s been a long day,” he said.  “I’m going to go hit the sack.  Good night, Virgilio, see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Guerrero said.  He raised his hands, and made one of the few signs he knew.  <Good night, and sleep well.>

StripeSide dipped her head to him.  <Sleep well, and good night,> she replied. 

 

 


	5. Getting to know each other

Owen walked to the old convent first thing the next morning.  He found Dr Grant sitting outside on the raised porch, looking down on the town.  “Dr Grant!” Owen called, raising his hand as he walked. 

“Owen,” Grant said.  His breakfast dishes were standing by, ready to be cleared, but it looked as if Flavio’s cousin had forgotten about her new waitressing job, because Grant was all alone. 

“Sleep well?” Owen said.  He climbed up the steps – the old convent had been built on stilts to keep it dry in the flood season – and leaned his shoulder against the pole holding up the thatched roof. 

“Not really,” Grant said.  “I kept getting woken up by running and screaming.” 

“You’ll get used to it,” Owen said.  “They run around and scream at each other every night.” 

Not to mention all the other things raptors did at night, like jumping on and off rooftops, and randomly opening doors in the middle of the night if they heard something interesting inside.  Just last night, somebody spent hours industriously pulling apart a stack of firewood and scattering the logs over sixty square feet of yard.  What the point of that was, Owen had no clue, but the owner of the wood was furious.

 “Why do they scream like that?”  Grant asked. 

“I’ll be damned if I know,” Owen admitted.  “They just don’t seem to understand that we like peace and quiet to sleep.   You’ll get used to it, just give it time.” 

“Doubt it,” Grant repeated.  “Where are you staying?” 

“With my raptor,” Owen said. 

“Wait, you sleep _with_ them?” 

“Well, I _try_ to sleep,” Owen said.  "There’s a sort of pavilion, just outside town.   We sleep there at night, and they sleep there in the day. StripeSide might be there by now. Raptors are nocturnal by choice.” 

“You’ll have to show me,” Grant said. 

“I plan to,” Owen said. 

There was a grumble from the doorway, and Malcolm appeared, leaning heavily on his cane. 

“Doctor Malcolm,” Owen said. 

Malcolm leaned his cane against the edge of the table, and sat down.  For the first time Owen realized that the orb on the end was a lump of polished amber.  He wondered where he had got it from, and whether it was genuine amber.  Since the news broke about Jurassic Park, jewellers had been flooded with fake amber, complete with fake fossils.     

“Sleep well?”  Grant asked. 

“Sleep?  Sleep, ah, no,” Malcolm said.  “No sleep.  Something under the building made noises all night.” 

“Yeah, probably one of the fledglings,” Owen said.  “They’re learning to catch mice.”     

“I know it’s supposed to be ‘eco-tourism,’ but that’s, ah, that’s more ecology than I like.”  He was trying to scratch his own back, twisting his arm behind him to scratch under the black shirt. 

Owen winced at the sight.  He remembered how badly he had itched, during his first few weeks here in the rainforest.  He must have entertained every biting insect in the entire Amazon basin – and every single one of those insects had stopped to sign his visitor’s book.  His skin had been on fire for three months.   “They’ll itch less if you stop scratching them,” Owen said. 

“Oh, go away,” Malcolm said. 

“I know what I’m talking about,” Owen said, irritated.  “Everyone says so, but it’s true.  Dr Somersby can probably give you an anti-histamine, if you need it.” 

“Dr Somersby, huh?” Malcolm perked up.  “Hmm.  The lovely Dr Somersby.  That actually sounds like an excellent idea.” 

“Stay for some breakfast?” Grant offered.  “I can chase down the waitress for you.” 

“When do I ever have breakfast?” Malcolm said.  He picked up his cane, and levered himself up.  “Later, Alan.”  He climbed awkwardly down the steps to the ground, and stumped away. 

Owen was glad to see him go.  It would be damn sight easier to talk to Grant without Malcolm standing by, poking fun, and asking sarcastic questions no-one could answer.  He could talk to Grant on the same level.  They were both outdoors men, both worked with their hands, both shared the language of the biological sciences.   But he’d never had much success talking to ivory-tower academics. 

Lowery should have been here, Owen though.  Lowery would have been able to handle Malcolm.  Lowery knew how to talk to grumpy sarcastic boffins because Lowery _was_ a grumpy sarcastic boffin, but Owen wasn’t going to see him again until WingWatch’s hatchlings were big enough to rejoin the pack. 

“Where are Damien and Michael this morning?” Owen asked, trying to sound casual. 

“Michael left early, but I haven’t seen Damien,” Grant said.   

It didn’t matter where the two soldiers had gone, Owen consoled himself.  Wherever they went, at least one Cloud would go with them.  And the Clouds were the masters of camouflage.  If they didn’t want to be seen, they weren’t seen.  They had all the skill of the octopus allied with great intelligence:  in dim light they could disappear at will, as if by magic.  Owen had lost track of how many times he’d nearly stood on them, unable to see them. 

Grant picked up his coffee-cup, swirled the dregs around, and drained it.  “You know I’ve got more questions.” 

“I figured you would,” Owen said.  “Let’s take a walk, and I’ll see if I can answer them.” 

They left the Hotel Dinosaurios, and strolled through the town square.  The ‘square’ of San Judas Tadeo wasn’t square.  It was just an open space in the centre of town where several of the town’s streets came together in front of the old church.  A busy town would have filled the empty space with a daily market – stalls selling fresh fish, fruit, farmers’ produce, and indispensable goodies like cheap clothes.  San Judas was not a busy town, and never had been.  The square _here_ was turning into Raptor Central.  There were a dozen velociraptors here, most of them sleeping in the shade, having their first daily siesta. 

Owen could see Grant staring, and stopped to join him in admiring the raptors.  They were all so different.  They had feathers, or no feathers.  They had stiff tails, and flexible tails.  Round pupils, and slit pupils.  Tall leggy raptors like TravelsOverWater; short stocky ones like StripeSide.  Green ones, brown ones, yellow ones, and grey ones – stripes, strakes, spots, and pebbles.  Every conceivable colour and shape of velociraptor you could ever imagine. 

“There are a whole lot more than I expected,” Grant said, looking at them. 

“There are three separate packs around here,” Owen said.  “Each pack has an alpha, and a beta, and usually a namer and a couple of couriers.  The queen is alpha over all the packs; they all answer to her.” 

“And your friend StripeSide is the queen?” 

“That’s her.” 

“What does that make you?” 

“Prince consort, I guess,” Owen shrugged. 

“Do they take orders from you?” 

“Yeah, under certain circumstances,” Owen said. “But I don’t control them, even if I wanted to.  That was Robert Muldoon’s first mistake, if you ask me.  You can’t _control_ a raptor.”

“They’re too smart,” Grant said.  “Far smarter than chimps or gorillas.”

“They’re intelligent, and _they_ want to be in control.  The _only_ way to get along is to accept that you are never actually in control.” 

They stopped in the small supermarket-slash-agricultural-supply-store, and bought a couple of Cokes.  Grant was surprised when the Coke came in a plastic bag with a knot tied around the straw, and even more surprised when Owen told him that the plastic bag had nothing to do with velociraptors and everything to do with the price of glass. 

They walked out through the town.  The town was circled by the inevitable fields where cassava was grown.  The farmers were already working, straw hats bent down to their crops, paying them no attention.  Dinosaurs were interesting, but manioc was food.  They walked on, winding downhill to the first thick stand of trees beyond the cassava fields. 

“And here we are,” Owen said.  “This here is the lair.”  He led Grant in between the trees, into the cool shadows. 

Mayor Guerrero had called this place the ‘pavilion’ – they reminded him of some garbled imagery from medieval poetry  – and for the people of San Judas Tadeo the name had stuck.  Here, where the trees were strong enough to bear weight and dense enough to form walls, the raptors had decided to build their lair.   

The pavilions wound between the trees.  The walls and roofs were made of woven palm fronds, raised on ropes and secured to the trees by a cat’s cradle of ropes.  The ‘rooms’ of the pavilions could be rearranged like Japanese shutters with the untying of a few knots.  The floors were wooden planks suspended above the ground. 

It wasn’t building in the trees, it was building _from_ the trees.  The raptors didn’t like sleeping in the rain, but they recoiled at the thought of leaving permanent signs of their presence in the forest.  The whole pavilion could be taken down in a few hours. 

Owen led Grant through an alleyway between the woven walls, deep in shadow under the trees.  Owen could hear a radio playing, and the clanging of a ladle turning in a metal pot.  He could smell raw meat; the inevitable scent of a community of carnivores. 

“Entering the dragon’s lair,” Grant said, pushing back his hat and looking around.  “Not entirely what I expected.” 

“And this is where _I’m_ living at the moment,” Owen said.  He drew back a stiff curtain.  The interior of his tent was dark, and private, and smelled of StripeSide.  It was empty.  StripeSide was sleeping somewhere else this morning. 

Owen kept his hammock in a bag and hanging from a tree, to keep it away from EatsPlants.  All of his possessions, including the books that recorded the raptors’ language and history, were hanging in the same tree.  His camp stool stood on the dirt floor, under his folding table. 

“I sleep here at night,” Owen explained.  “StripeSide sleeps here in the day, if it’s raining – she doesn’t like getting wet.  If it’s dry, she’ll sleep in the sun.”  

“Different to what I’m used to,” Grant said, looking in. 

“No running water,” Owen said.  “No air-con.   No TV or high-speed Internet…” 

“That’s not what I’m used to,” Grant said.  “I spent my career sleeping in a tent.  But there aren’t a lot of trees in the Badlands, so we prefer Blackfoot teepees.  Stable in the wind, plenty of room inside.  Modern Western tents just blow over.  Turns out, the old technology was better suited to the environment.”

“Funny how often that’s true,” Owen grinned.  He let the screen fall again. 

He and Grant walked out through the trees, back to the sunlight.  They reached the edge of the cassava fields again, and stood looking out. 

“So if this is what you call the lair, where is the nest?”  Grant asked. 

“We don’t have a nest here.” 

“But you do have a nest,” Grant insisted.  “You must have a nest if they’re breeding.”

“There are nests,” Owen admitted, “but I’ve never seen one.”

“The raptors on Isla Nublar had one large nest, with all their eggs in one place,” Grant said.  “It can’t be hard to find.  I remember going there at the time, trying to find out how many raptors had hatched.  We didn’t have enough time to count them all before the Costa Ricans flew in and started bombing …” 

“I think the Isla Nublar pack couldn’t find enough good nesting sites,” Owen said, defensively.  “Ours have separate nests for each clutch, and they’re kept secret.  Usually the only people who get to see them are the four parents.”

 _“Four_ parents?”

“Two sets of dyads,” Owen said.  “Remember I explained how they form dyads with each other for life, like birds?  Two sets of dyads makes four parents.” 

Grant scratched his head, clearly trying to make what he was hearing fit with what he already knew about raptors.  “So you mean they lay two clutches at a time?”

“No, just one,” Owen said.  He thought for a moment, trying to explain.  “Infant mortality among wild carnivores can be very high.  Some African predators can lose seventy per cent of their young in a breeding season.  Don’t know if you know that.  But raptors have evolved a mechanism that avoids that risk.  Raptor dyads are formed _across_ the mating bond, so that every clutch has _four_ parents, not two.  That way, the survival rate of the hatchlings is _much_ higher than you’d expect.”

 “I see,” Grant said. 

Owen rubbed his moustache, thinking.  “That dyad – it’s an unbelievably powerful instinct.  It’s the basis of their whole society –.”

“Society?” 

“I use that word advisedly,” Owen said.  “ _Only_ the dyad matters.  Once it’s formed, it matters more to them than anything else.  More than family – more than sex, or dominance, or pack.  Packs and mates come and go, but their dyad is for life.  I don’t even know if they can _not_ bond – jealousy is such a _huge_ part of their psychology.” 

StripeSide had said she did not mind Owen’s budding relationship with Maggie – but she’d made it clear that his friendship with SnailEater was not acceptable.  _Any_ sign of friendship with _any_ other raptor, except WingWatch, was deeply upsetting to her.  He’d learned to placate her jealousy since coming to San Judas Tadeo with gifts of Flavio’s frozen chocolate rats. 

“I see,” Grant said. 

“I don’t think you do,” Owen said.  He turned to look at Grant.  “It’s instinctive for them to form dyads.  It’s such a powerful drive they’ll even bond with us.  Exclusively.  For life. 

“The way your StripeSide bonded to you.”

“Exactly,” Owen said.  “She’s mine.  I’m hers.  I get my status in the pack from her.  As far as raptor society goes, we’re almost the same person.  I’m not _with_ the pack, I _am_ pack.” 

“And what happens if she dies?”

“I don’t know,” Owen said. 

“How long do they live for?” 

“I don’t know,” Owen said.  “We’ve still got most of Hammond’s raptors, from the old Jurassic Park.  TravelsOverWater, SilverNose – a few of the others are the same age.  TravelsOverWater must have hatched some time in ’92, and she’s still going strong.” 

“Animals that mature fast usually live fast, too,” Grant said. 

Owen didn’t even want to think about it.  He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his back against a tree.  “You know, I’ve spent my whole life around animals.  Horses, dogs, dolphins, cattle – but up till now I’ve never understood how someone could say they _loved_ an animal.  Until now.  Until her.  She’s mine and I’m hers.  She told me once she sometimes even has dreams where she _is_ me.  I’m not quite there yet, to be honest, but… yeah.” 

Grant stared out across the field.  “Isn’t that a bit…?”  Grant stopped. 

“A bit what?”  

“Your life is very strange,” Grant said. 

“Tell me about it!” Owen said.   “If you’d told me a year ago that I would throw away my whole life to run off to the rainforest and live with a velociraptor…”

“You’d have laughed?”

“I’d have said you needed psychiatric help,” Owen said.  He turned to face Grant.   “But you know something?  Maybe I am the one who needs help, but I have _no_ regrets.  _None._   This is my life now.” 

“I hear you,” Grant said. 

A group of raptors came out of the trees on the other side of the manioc field.  They were jogging purposefully along the road.  He saw that they had a few humans with them, including a small human child who was holding doggedly onto the tail of one of the adult raptors. 

Owen grinned at the sight – he remembered tagging along behind WingWatch once, holding onto the end of her tail just like that. 

“Where are they going?”  Grant asked. 

“That looks like a deputation to see the queen.”

“A deputation?” 

“Sorting disputes is part of the queen raptor’s job,” Owen said.  “It’s part of my job around here to translate for the Boss.” 

“What kind of dispute can dinosaurs have?” 

 “Mostly jealousy over dyads.  Hunting disputes, mating disputes.” 

Another group of raptors came out of the trees on Owen’s right.  They also had a few humans with them.  Somebody pointed to the first group of raptors, and a raptor screamed. 

A raptor in the first group screamed back, and suddenly both groups broke into a run.  Somebody snatched up the little child and parked her onto the back of the grey raptor, and both groups were running into town across the field.  It had turned into a race, and there was only one place they could be racing to. 

“That’s definitely a dispute!” Owen said, pointing.  “Come on!  I’ve got work to do!” 

Owen led Grant back to town as fast as the old guy would trot.  They went back through the pavilions, into the town, and into Raptor Central.  Owen arrived in time to see StripeSide appear, flanked by MoonRain and JaguarPaw. 

She stopped short, and cough-barked at him imperiously.    

“Yes, ma’am,” Owen said, grinning, and walked across to her.  It amused him how furiously she jumped up and down if he took his time.  Humans walked so slowly!  They didn’t always come when they were called, and when they did, they moseyed over at their own pace, and arrived when it suited them, and that tended to drive the perfectly punctual velociraptors wild with frustration. 

This time, though, she just leaped up onto the cement gutter that ran across the square, so that she was higher than the other raptors, and waited for him.  The rest of the raptors had fallen into position on the same axis around her. 

Oh, that was definitely a dispute.  Owen had work to do.  

He strode into the centre of the raptors, and they parted around him for the queen’s dyad.  He stopped in front of StripeSide, nodded at her, and turned his back on her firmly.  He didn’t understand the raptors’ insistence on all standing on the same axis, but he knew it was important, so he made sure that it was important to him too.  Standing with his back to her would tell all the raptors that he was with her, and in full support of her.  He folded his arms across his chest to show he was listening, aware that StripeSide’s wide jaw was just above his left shoulder, and stared back at the other raptors.   

The humans didn’t bother with the niceties of who stood in which compass direction.  They were broken down into two groups, facing off against each other in front of StripeSide, and each group of humans was supported by raptors behind them.  The little girl was still clinging tightly to the grey raptor’s tail. 

MoonRain, Jorge’s raptor,  had arrived and was standing between both groups, where everyone could see her.  MoonRain would translate from the raptors’ own language into Raptor Sign; Owen would from translate in the opposite direction, from Spanish into Raptor Sign. 

To give the Colombians of La Patasola their due, none of them had ever objected to having a foreigner as the queen raptor’s consort.  The fact that he was American meant less to them than the fact that he was StripeSide’s dyad.  The dyad was all that mattered.  His own identity had somehow become  irrelevant – he took _his_ status from StripeSide’s.

“Ladies,” Owen said to both groups, speaking loudly in Spanish.  “My name is Owen.  I am StripeSide’s dyad.”

“Dyad?” one of the women said, frowning.    

Owen sighed.  “Bond-mate,” he said, using the ridiculous Spanish phrase.  He’d been trying to insist on the word ‘dyad,’ but it just wasn’t catching on outside of his own pack.  ‘Bond-mate’ was translated verbatim from Raptor Sign, but it sounded ridiculous to Owen.  It sounded like the lurid daydreams of a teenager, like something from a paranormal romance.  He preferred the more clinical dyad, but it wasn't catching on. 

“You must be Owen,” the other woman said, and pointed to a raptor next to her.  “I’m Juana.  This is YellowSnake.  She’s the Alpha of this pack.  The big grey fellow is  ScarBreast, and that’s his little kid.  Her name’s Isabel.” 

Owen nodded his head to her.  “Glad to meet you.”  Juana was Owen’s opposite number; or she had been, until StripeSide fought TravelsOverWater and became queen of all the packs. 

The grey raptor put his forehands around the little girl, and picked her up.  Owen noticed that he had learned to hold his talons absolutely flat and grip the child’s waist between his palms, so as not to hurt her.  He swung her off her little bare feet, and set her onto one of the low branches of the tree.  

He stepped back, and signed, <Sit there.  I will not go away, and you can watch.> 

The kid hugged a stuffed toy to herself, and nodded. 

The woman in the other group saw the little girl, sitting in the tree.  She stepped forward, and called out, “Isabel?  Isabel, it’s me, Tia Adelaida!  Come here, my child!” 

The little girl just gripped her stuffed toy even tighter, and shook her head.  “Don’t want to!” 

The grey raptor was already snarling at StripeSide, in a way that looked very threatening from where Owen stood, but probably wasn’t.  StripeSide cocked her head, listening.  Her nostrils were moving in and out quickly, but otherwise she did not move a muscle.  She listened, immobile as a statue.  

MoonRain coughbarked, drawing all eyes to her, and began to sign quickly.  

 <His name is ScarBreast, and his bond-mate was the human, DelightsInOrchids.  DelightsInOrchids has died, he says, died of coughing too much.  This child is called LittleOrchid, and she is DelightsInOrchid’s child…>

Owen began to translate from Raptor Sign into Spanish, but he was interrupted. 

“You have to tell them to give her back,” the woman said to Owen, pointing across at the little girl.  “She’s my niece.  She’s not pack!  How can she be, she’s just a child!” 

“Not yet,” Owen raised one hand away from his folded stance, and pointed at her.  “One at a time, and it’s his time, so you wait your turn.” 

“But she’s only …!” the woman said.     

“Shut up!” Owen said.  “I’m not translating until it’s your turn!” 

She subsided, sullenly, and Owen translated the rest of what MoonRain had to say. 

DelightsInOrchids had known she was dying, from coughing too much.   DelightsInOrchids had given instructions for ScarBreast to protect and guard LittleOrchid after she was gone.  She had lived and died in the pack, she had borne her child in the pack, she had died in the pack.  LittleOrchid had no father, and ScarBreast was her only remaining parent.  ScarBreast would raise his bond-mate’s offspring, as DelightsInOrchids had raised his. 

Then, after DelightsInOrchids was gone, her sister had come into the pack, and demanded that LittleOrchid be given over to her.  ScarBreast said no, and YellowSnake supported him.  ScarBreast was LittleOrchid’s mother’s bond-mate; he was her only remaining parent. 

But not all of the pack agreed that ScarBreast should raise LittleOrchid.  The pack was divided among those who agreed with ScarBreast, and those who agreed with the sister.  And so it was that SisterOfOrchids had learned that disputes like this one could be taken to the queen, whose decisions were binding on all, and whose law  could not be challenged except through a succession battle…

ScarBreast finished saying his piece, and Owen turned to the woman, Adelaida. “All right, now it’s your turn.  You talk to me, and I’ll translate.” 

“She’s my sister’s child,” Adelaida said.  “My sister ran away into the forest, to be with _that.”_   She pointed angrily at ScarBreast. 

Owen decided he _did,_ in fact, need to translate the vehemence of ‘that,’ so that StripeSide got a fair picture of Adelaida’s complaint.  He heard a distinctly unimpressed snot-snarl from someone in the pack behind ScarBreast

<How long ago did DelightsInOrchids join the Pack?> StripeSide queried. 

<Six years ago,> ScarBreast signed, unasked, just as Adelaida said, “She joined your sick little cult six years ago, as God is my witness.” 

<Six years ago, she says,> Owen translated.  DelightsInOrchids must have come from one of the families tangentially connected to La Patasola – one of the dirt-poor farmers who’d thought up the name ‘La Patasola,’ to better hide them from outsiders. 

<Exactly as I said!> ScarBreast signed. 

<How old is the child?> StripeSide asked. 

Owen put the question to Adelaida. 

“Three.  She’s three,” Adelaida said. 

<She is three,> Owen said to StripeSide. 

<You agree?> StripeSide asked ScarBreast. 

ScarBreast signed, <Three years she has lived.  And I was there for all three years, and all through the night she was born, and all nine moons of her incubation before that … LittleOrchid is mine!  Not this human’s, who she barely knows!>

<Be silent!>  StripeSide snapped her teeth at him.  <Who is the father of this child?” 

“Who is Isabel’s father?” Owen translated StripeSide’s question to Adelaida.

“I don’t know.  She didn’t even tell me she had a child!” Adelaida complained.  “Now they won’t give her back to her family!  She’s my own flesh and blood, and they’re keeping her away from me!  They say she belongs to them!  I tried to take her away with me, and he stopped me.”

“How did he stop you?” Owen asked sharply.  For a raptor to harm a human was strictly forbidden, by the law of TravelsOverWater. 

“He took her deeper into the forest,” she said.  “I had to ask my cousins to help find them at all!  I found my sister’s child, running around in the forest like an animal, without shoes on her feet, or a roof over her head!  How could I call myself a good Christian and let my own sister’s child run around with wild beasts!” 

 _That_ challenged Owen’s translation to the maximum. 

<Why did she not send her child to her sister?> StripeSide asked.  <If she already knew she was dying?> 

“Your sister knew she was dying,” Owen said, “Or so ScarBreast says.  He says she had tuberculosis, she knew she was dying, but she still didn’t send Isabel to you.  How do you explain that?”

“How do I explain it?” Adelaida asked him.  She looked around Owen at Juana, who was standing by with her arms folded.  “How do _you_ explain why you didn’t let my sister leave, to come back to her family when she was so ill.  We could have helped her!  We could have taken her to the hospital, got her the treatment she needed!  Instead you kept her in your insane little cult until she died!  And now you and that _thing_ want to keep my niece as well?”  

ScarBreast glared at her, his eyes fixed and his killing-claws retracted.  It was only StripeSide’s control that prevented him attacking his rival, Owen realized.  These two clearly hated each other like fire. 

<How did she find out there was a child?>  StripeSide asked. 

“A letter from my sister arrived, telling us after she died,” Adelaida replied through Owen.  “She said her little girl was all alone in the world with monsters for company!  No family around her, to love her, and care for her, and look after her!”

ScarBreast’s snarl interrupted Owen’s translation.   <LittleOrchid is not alone!> ScarBreast signed.  He stood up to his full height, baring all of his sharp teeth.  <She has me!  She hardly even knows you!  I am her parent, not you!> 

StripeSide lunged at him with her teeth.  Her jaws clapped shut just short of his throat, and ScarBreast subsided with a hiss.  Neither of them bothered to sign their meaning, because no explanation was needed. 

“This _thing_ you’ve got here,” Adelaida said, waving her hand at Owen and Juana, and by extension all the humans who lived with La Patasola.  “This sick little cult of yours!  You can do what you want. You’re adults.  Throw your own lives away.  But Isabel is only three!”

“Other children have been raised in the pack, without coming to any harm,”  Owen said, looking closely at her and pointing at Victoria.  Victoria was only nineteen.  She had been raised around raptors; she had learned to speak Raptor Sign almost as soon as Spanish. 

Victoria was probably not a good example, Owen thought, a split second later.  Victoria never like being stared at, or even spoken to unexpectedly.  She recoiled, and took a half-step backward, swaying her weight over her feet warily as if she was ready for fight or flight.  The mannerism was strangely raptorish.  JaguarPaw swung his big yellow head to look at her, and snarled protectively.  <Mine!> he signed. 

“It’s not about harm,” Adelaida went on.  “It’s about what’s _right._   She _needs_ to be with her family!  She has grandparents, and cousins, and a family home, and she must come home with me.  You can’t take my own sister’s child away from her own blood!”

<She has only one remaining parent out of the four she should have!  Me!> ScarBreast declared.  <Not her human blood – who have never even seen her before, who don’t even speak our Sign!  Me!>  

“I won’t give up my sister’s own child,” Adelaida snapped, when that was translated.  “She’s just a little girl!  A human child needs to be raised in a human family! My family!” 

Translating was probably Owen’s least favourite thing about being the queen raptor’s dyad.  It was harder than it looked, trying to batter ideas from one language into another, and neither Spanish nor Raptor Sign was his first language.  After translating for more than an hour or so, his head would ache, and his exhaustion would lead him toward paraphrasing to the point of nonsense.  ‘She says words, now she says words, now more words, other words.’

StripeSide paused.  She looked at Adelaida, and at ScarBreast, and at the child.  <Is this child healthy?> she asked. 

<Yes,> ScarBreast said.  <Of course she is!>   

<You are an insufficient judge of human health!> StripeSide signed with a hiss-snap.  Her long head turned toward Victoria.  <Does the child appear healthy?  Normal? Well fed?  Not … as EatsPlants is?  Speak to her!> 

Victoria didn’t like being spoken to in front of everyone but she walked up to the little girl.   “Hello, Isabel.  My name is Victoria.  That’s my raptor, right there,” and Victoria pointed at JaguarPaw.  “Isn’t he beautiful?” 

Isabel’s wary eyes turned to look at JaguarPaw. 

Owen watched StripeSide.  She was standing frozen, completely motionless in that ageless way that the raptors had.  She was watching Victoria talking to the child, who was still sitting on the branch of the tree, her knees pulled up and her stuffed toy clutched in both arms. 

It was a queen raptor’s job to solve disputes.  If she failed to solve them she would be challenged, and someone else would take her place – maybe BentTail, or even old Silver Nose.  StripeSide had a year to observe how TravelsOverWater did it, but this was a problem that had never come up before.  Who had custody of this child – her parent or her family? 

Human law was clear.  Children belonged with their blood families.  But raptor law was also clear.  Offspring belonged with their parents – all four parents, blood or not.  Lowery Caruthers was now a nine-times-over parent.  His claim to WingWatch’s eggs took precedence over StripeSide’s, even though StripeSide was WingWatch’s sister, and Lowery wasn’t even a dinosaur.  But human custom said that children stayed with their parents.  Human didn’t recognise the raptor/human dyad as binding.  Human law saw Isabel as an orphan; raptor law did not. 

Decide one way; break raptor law.  Decide the other way; break human law.  Whichever way she decided, StripeSide would be breaking the law. 

He remembered telling her the story of the ‘Old Wise King’ in the ‘Good Deity Book.’  When making a ruling in a custody fight just like this one, the Wise King had ordered the child sawed in half.  When only one woman protested – shrieking in horror – the Wise King had known _that_ woman was the child’s mother.  The raptors had all been delighted with the wisdom of the Old Wise King, and StripeSide immediately declared that she wanted to meet this king.  It had come as a genuine disappointment when Owen explained that King Solomon had been dead for thousands of years…

He hoped she wouldn’t suddenly remember the story of King Solomon, and suggest it.  ScarBreast was fifteen years old and had never shown any interest in leadership, but Owen was sure he would challenge his queen on the spot if she suggested sawing his child in half. 

 _His_ child.  His bond-mate’s child.  It occurred to Owen that through the whole conversation, Adelaida had not once mentioned her sister’s human name.  Yet her raptor name had been almost the first word from ScarBreast.  He hadn’t thought to translate it, because he hadn’t noticed it at the time. 

Why would someone take off with La Patasola, and not tell their family that she had a child?  It wasn’t that hard to get a message from one pack to another.  Every pack had someone whose  primary specialisation was carrying verbatim messages from one pack to another.  SmokeShell claimed to have travelled south of Manus.   DelightsInOrchids must have kept her child away from her family for a reason. 

A possible solution occurred to Owen.  He glanced up at StripeSide again.  She was still watching Victoria.  He wasn’t supposed to interfere in solving the dispute.  He was supposed to stay completely neutral, but he realized he’d already made up his mind. 

He pursed his lips and made a brief whistle.  _Attend!_

She whipped her head around and down to him so fast he jumped.  Her golden eye was inches from his face. 

He raised his eyebrows, hoping his blood temperature wasn’t contradicting him, and made a sign.  <Remember the Wise King?> 

<That is not a solution!> she bared her teeth and pulled her snout sharply away from him in refusal. 

<Have them both call her.>  He folded his arms across his chest. 

She raised her head and stared at Victoria, who was saying something quietly to Isabel and stepping back.  The little girl hadn’t let go of her stuffed toy for one moment.   Her face was wary, her big dark eyes round and suspicious,  and Owen recognised a kid who was aware that something very bad was going on. 

“She seems healthy to me,”  Victoria said, turning back to Owen.  “I am not a doctor, but I can’t see anything wrong.”

<LittleOrchid appears healthy,> Owen translated. 

StripeSide timbered thoughtfully.  

<And what do you find, Alpha of Alphas?> Moon Rain asked. 

StripeSide looked at the child, and then up at the sky, and then scratched the side of her own face with one curved black talon.  For a moment she just scratched at her own scales as if they were very interesting. 

The raptors waited, and Owen wondered what she was saying – if she was saying anything at all. 

Eventually StripeSide brought her forehands in front of her and began to sign.  <This is a difficult question.  This problem has not come up before, and thus whatever decision I make now will create a new law for the Pack,> 

<Truth, this,> Moon Rain agreed. 

<Yes, this child is human.  Human law says that she is subject to human law.  But pack law says that she is pack.  However, in this case, our two equal laws contradict each other.  Equal, they are, but deadlocked.  The deadlock cannot be broken without granting one law power over the other, and that we will not do.> 

Owen translated, and Adelaida promptly complained, “But human law is better!” 

StripeSide glanced at her.  She could not have understood what the woman said without a translation, but she went on signing.  <I will not grant human law precedence over ours.  Our laws are not a division of human law, they are entirely separate.  The laws are equal; they must be equal.  Anything else concedes that we are lesser people than humans, and that I will _never_ accept.  We will never again be under human power, ever, for any reason. >

There were a few snarls from around her; the raptors agreed with their queen.  Owen was reminded that the raptors here in town were the ones that agreed with StripeSide; the ones who didn’t think humans and dinosaurs could co-exist as equals had all gone south with TravelsOverWater.   

StripeSide snarled.  <Instead, we will take this problem entirely alone.  A child is unique, and on that uniqueness I will judge.  A test, I propose!  Let the child tell us which law will be hers, in which world she will live.  Whosoever succeeds at this test will have custody of LittleOrchid.  Is this satisfactory to both parties?> 

<If it is a challenge I will meet it!> ScarBreast said. 

“I’m not fighting a velociraptor!” Adelaida said, folding her hands over her breasts. 

“You don’t have to fight him,” Owen said.  “It’s not that sort of test.  And if you pass the test, Isabel is yours.  You fail the test, Isabel is his.”

“And if I refuse the test?” 

“You’ll lose by default.” 

“It’s not fair.” 

“You came here for a judgement,” Juana told her.  “This is your chance to get one.” 

Adelaida sighed.  “Oh, all right.  Fine.” 

StripeSide looked at them both.  She dropped her lower jaw, timbering thoughtfully. 

 <In the time that we have been here in dispute,> she signed, <LittleOrchid has not for one second released her grip on that … what is that called?  … The soft plaything?>

ScarBreast made a little sign with his talons, and Owen realized that it had to be name of the stuffed toy in Raptor Sign. 

A snarl rippled over StripeSide's lips.   <The one who can persuade LittleOrchid to bring me her plaything will be the child’s parent.>  She signed slowly, moving her talons with exaggerated slowness so that there could be no mistake.

Owen almost cackled of delight when he translated _that_ into Spanish.  If there was one thing raptors understood, it was possessiveness.  No three-year-old in the _world_ could top a velociraptor when it came to MINE. 

“What?” Adelaida said, staring at him. 

“Tell Isabel to give her the teddy,” Owen repeated. 

“What, is that _it?”_

“That’s it,” Owen agreed. 

“That's too easy.  What's the catch?”

“No catch.  The queen’s decision is binding.  If she broke her word, she’d be challenged.” 

<This will be an easy test!> ScarBreast said.  <So easy that the human can go first.> 

<You may not intervene!> StripeSide ordered. 

<I do not have to intervene.>  ScarBreast said.  < I will even go away!  Observe!>  He turned, his long tail flexing behind him, and walked away around the wide girth of the tree out of Isabel’s sight. 

“Here’s your chance,” Owen said.  “Go for it – if you can.” 

“Of course I can,” Adelaida said.  “She’s my niece!”  Adelaida walked to the tree.  “Hello, Isabel, dear.  Come, let’s get you out of that nasty tree.” 

The girl let herself be gathered up in Adelaida’s arms, and put back down on the ground.  Adelaida knelt down in front of her.  “What’s this called, your toy?” 

“Pepito.” 

“Will you be a good girl, and go give Pepito to that dinosaur?” 

Isabel’s eyes turned to StripeSide.  She clutched the toy tighter in her arms.  “Don’t want to.” 

“Yes, you can.  Give her Pepito.”

“Don’t want to.” 

“Aren’t you going to be a good girl for your Tia Adelaida?”

“Don’t want to,” Isabel said. 

 “No, don’t talk like that.  That’s ugly talk.  Take Pepito over to the dinosaur!”

“Don’t want to!”  The stuffed toy was being squeezed tighter and tighter. 

“Oh, for the … Isabel!  Don’t be naughty!  This is important.  Take Pepito to the dinosaur!  Right now!” 

“Don’t want to!” 

“Isabel, if you don’t take Pepito to that dinosaur right now, I am going to start getting angry…”

“Don’t want to!” 

Owen might not have a lot of experience with kids – but he had plenty of experience with stubborn animals.  Yelling at a toddler was as useless as yelling at a dachshund.    He knew damn well that as soon as you showed an animal you were frustrated, you had no hope of getting them to cooperate.   Owen cleared his throat. 

“I’m not an expert, but it doesn’t look like you’re getting anywhere.” 

“She’s naughty!  And that’s what comes of letting children run around with animals!” 

“She knows you well enough to tune you out,” Owen said,  “but _not_ well enough to want to please you.”

“This child hasn’t been disciplined at all!  Go ahead.  I guarantee that _thing_ won’t do any better!” 

Owen wasn’t even going to bother translating that.  He turned to StripeSide.  <It is ScarBreast’s turn.>   

StripeSide cough-barked, and ScarBreast slid around the tree again, looking very pleased with himself. 

<The same rule applies to you,> StripeSide signed.  <The one who can persuade her to bring her plaything to me is the true parent of this child.> 

ScarBreast lowered his snout to the toddler.  He set both big scaled forehands down on the ground, lowering himself to her level.  For a long moment he stood there, breathing over her uncombed hair. 

“Don’t want to, don’t want to, don’t want to,” Isabel said, over and over, but she became aware of ScarBreast.  ScarBreast waited until she looked at him, and then raised himself to sign.   

<LittleOrchid, I am very glad you didn’t scream.  You are a very good girl.  We didn’t need a TimeOut, and I’m proud of you.  We are almost finished here, and then we can go home, yes?  What are you?>

Isabel was still clutching the stuffed toy tightly with both arms wrapped around it.  She stared up at ScarBreast, clearly torn between letting go, and speaking.  Eventually she put the toy under her elbow and signed with only her hands, not her whole arms.  <I am a good girl.> 

<LittleOrchid, I need your attention now.  Look at me.  We are going to go to that dinosaur, and show Soft to her.  So would you rather walk there like a little girl, or hop like a rabbit?> 

Isabel seemed to be thinking about it.  Owen waited for another sullen ‘don’t want to,’ but she said, <Hop like a rabbit.> 

<You may hop like a rabbit.  Now we go.> 

Isabel gripped the stuffed toy, and to Owen’s amazement she bounced like a bunny.  ScarBreast stalked next to her, his huge bony head held down by her side.  With his head low, his tail was raised high, and Juana was forced to take a step back out of his way as he turned. 

“What the hell is she doing?” Adelaida asked. 

“Bouncing like a bunny,” Owen said, with a shrug.  “Little kids … I’ll be damned.” 

Isabel bounced like a bunny all the way up to StripeSide.  “I am a bunny!” she declared.  <This is Soft!> she signed. 

StripeSide bent down her great neck.  Her head was almost bigger than Isabel’s whole body.  Her scaly snout filled with sharp predatory teeth hovered over the little girl.  Isabel raised the stuffed toy – a monkey, Owen saw – and held it up to StripeSide’s face.  StripeSide lowered her head even further.  She pressed the end of her snout against the soft woolly toy, inhaling deeply. 

She raised her head away from the toy, and blinked at Isabel.  <That is a very fine plaything.> 

<I want you to let StripeSide play with Soft now,> ScarBreast signed. 

Isabel hesitated for a moment.  “Not yours,”  she said, warily.  She folded her arms around Pepito. 

<She will give Soft back, I promise,> ScarBreast said.  <She is a nice dinosaur.  Can you give Soft to nice StripeSide?> 

Owen realized he was holding his breath.  Isabel was looking at StripeSide with the wide flat stare of a toddler, and StripeSide waited.  Isabel thought about StripeSide for a long time, and Owen saw the moment she made up her mind.  She held up the stuffed toy.  “There!” she declared, and thrust it at StripeSide. 

“Oh, you must be joking!” Adelaida complained. 

“Looks like ‘that thing’ passed the test,”  Owen said. 

<I thank you,> StripeSide said.  She reached out, her long black talons sharp as scimitars, and the floppy bundle of brown was handed to her.  She lowered her head to the stuffed toy, and sniffed it again.  She twisted her head around, and looked at Owen. A rigid raptor face wasn’t capable of smiling, but Owen was sure she would have dropped him a grin and a wink if she could. 

StripeSide leaned down again, and gave the toy back to Isabel, and Isabel folded it against her body again.  <That is a fine plaything,> she told Isabel.  <And you are a very fine girl.  I am sure your mother was proud of you.  Big strong Isabel.  Now go back to ScarBreast.> 

<Come,> ScarBreast beckoned her back to him.  <Do you want to sit in the tree again, or stand here with me?> 

Isabel went back to the tree.  StripeSide rocked herself back on her hind legs. 

<Now hear the law of StripeSide!>

Owen began to translate.  He was growing tired, and aware of it, and so he slowed down his translation word by word, making sure he was explaining each concept properly. 

<Human custom is to leave children with their families.  Humans keep their family relationships a lot longer than we do.  They stay in close contact with their blood relations for years, often for life.  Family is as important to them as bond-mates are for us.>

She waited for Owen to catch up. 

<But this child was born in the pack, and in the pack the bond is sacred.  This child has three parents.  Her mother, her mother’s bondmate, and her father.  Had her father been here, I would have given her to that father.  Her father is not here.  Her mother is dead.  She has one parent remaining.  She obeys ScarBreast, and I am given to understand this is a very difficult thing in a human so young.  The child is his.  Her parent, not her family, will raise LittleOrchid.>

ScarBreast hiss-snapped, his teeth clapping shut loudly. 

<This is the law of StripeSide.>   StripeSide stared around her, waiting to be challenged, but nobody did.  When it was clear there would be no challenge, she turned to look at ScarBreast. 

<But as for you!  Do not think you can go back to your pack.  You have a duty to raise a _human_ child.>

<Alpha?> ScarBreast asked. 

<I have seen with my own eyes what becomes of a creature raised in isolation away from its own kind!  Mad, that creature was, and a monster!  A human child requires other humans to grow up human.  This means you, ScarBreast, will leave your present pack.  You will stay here until the day that LittleOrchid comes of age and is an adult among humans.  This I command!>  She spread her jaws over her signing talons and shrieked shrilly at ScarBreast. 

ScarBreast swayed from side to side, his tail swinging like a pendulum behind him.  He dropped his head and neck, and hissed at StripeSide.   <This duty I will carry out,>  he said, and swiveled his nose toward the tree to look at Isabel.  <You are mine.  You are the child of my bond-mate.  And now you are mine.>

<Humans grow extremely slowly,> StripeSide said.  <This is not a duty that will end in a few months.  Humans have long, long, long lives.  Next to us they are almost immortal.  This child's life will be longer than yours, many times over.>

<Truth, this - and a truth I accept,> ScarBreast signed.  <Never again will I sire my own eggs.  Nor will I seek another bond-mate.  This child I will raise as my own, in lieu of the eggs I would have raised with DelightsInOrchids.>

<Then our business here is done!> StripeSide said.  <Let there be no further dispute in this matter.  And I am for my first sleep.  I am away.> 

She jumped down off the wall, and whirled away.  The party broke up, raptors and humans going off in all directions.  ScarBreast went and collected Isabel, and she followed him away.  The alpha of the other pack paused to snarl at YellowSnake, and the two parties broke up. 

“But he can’t just take her away!” Adelaida complained. 

“He’s not going to take her away!” Owen said, finally irritated by her.  “Didn’t you hear what she said?” 

“Isabel is going to grow up in San Judas Tadeo,” Juana said, “so that she can grow up around other human children.” 

“But I want to take her home with me!”

“So does he,” Juana said.  “And he’s not getting what he wants either.  He’s going to have to leave his pack and stay here.”  

“Come away, Adelaida,” the other woman with her said. 

“But…”

“You’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?” Juana said.  “You said you wanted her raised among humans, and you’ve got that.  You said you didn’t want her running around in the jungle, and you’ve got that!  If you really want to be a part of her life, put your money where your mouth is and move here …” 

Within a few minutes, Owen was alone.  He saw Grant sitting on the raised knobbled root of the great tree that shaded the square, and walked over. 

Grant tipped his hat.  “I was starting to fear for your life, there,” Grant said.  “What was all that about?”

Owen sat down heavily on the root.  “Actually,” Owen scratched his beard, thoughtfully.  “It’s a problem that’s never come up before.  That little girl – the one we saw coming in?” 

“Yes?” 

“It’s a custody dispute.  She’s an orphan,” Owen said.  “Except that she’s not.  Her mother died, but her mother was bonded with a raptor, and now the raptor wants to raise her as his own.  The other woman is the child’s aunt.” 

“Well, surely the child should go with the aunt,” Grant said.  “She’s family.” 

“Except that the raptor is family too.  The mother and the raptor were bond-mates.”  Oh, God, now _he_ was using the word!  Maybe it really was time to give up and let 'dyad' just fade.  “As far as the raptor is concerned, she’s his kid.  But as far as the kid’s family are concerned, their sister just fu– er, just ran off to the forest to go live with crazy people.”

“And now what?” 

“According to StripeSide, the raptor has custody of the kid, but he has to stay here in San Judas Tadeo so she can grow up around other people, and not just raptors, so she doesn't end up like a feral child.”  StripeSide remembered the Indominus Rex as poignantly as Owen did; it was a good thing raptors didn't really grasp the idea of vengeance. 

“A raptor with custody of a _child?”_

"Yeah," Owen said. "The aunt can decide if she wants to stay here as well.  If they want to raise her together, they’re going to have to get along.”

“She could run to Virgilio Guerrero and ask him…”

“And Virgilio will send her straight back to StripeSide.  They hammered _that_ out between them on the second day we were here.   Virgilio is the Mayor of San Judas Tadeo.  StripeSide is the queen alpha.  Separate magisteria.” 

"And the kid?" 

"Don't think she'll come to any harm," Owen said.  "Other kids have been raised in the pack - it's been twenty years, after all, people still go on having babies, even in the rainforest.  Victoria learned to speak Raptor Sign almost at the same time as Spanish.  And I know for a fact Jorge has a son somewhere east of here." 

Grant took off his hat and rubbed his hand across his hair.  “Your life is very strange,” he said. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Owen said.  “But you know what I said about having no regrets?  Think about this.  We don’t know how long raptors live for.  ScarBreast, the raptor, is fifteen.  That kid is three.  He’ll probably be dead and gone by the time she reaches legal drinking age.  He knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life looking after her – and he’s _still_ going to do it.”

“Your life,” Grant repeated, “is very strange.” 

“It’s a strange, strange world.” 

* * *

 

Malcolm walked with his heart in his mouth, but he made it all the way to the front door of the clinic without any running, or screaming.  Nothing and nobody stopped him.  Raptors everywhere, yes.  They were unquestionably raptors.  He remembered the raptors from Jurassic Park very well.  These raptors moved the same; they sounded the same; they smelled the same.  But most of them were asleep, or intent on their own inscrutable business.  They paid him no attention. 

On Jurassic Park – and Isla Sorna – the raptors had been enemies, with nothing better to do than attack.  _These_ raptors had other things to think about.  

The clinic seemed to be deserted, but the door was open.  He climbed up the cement ramp to the front door, the rubber ferrule of the cane tapping the cement, and walked in. 

“Hello-o-o!” he yelled into the shadows of the building.

There was no reply. 

He walked through the reception area, and into Somersby’s  office, and stopped dead. 

A raptor had been lying on the floor of the office, and it pushed itself to its feet and snarled at him. 

The end of Malcolm’s cane whipped up.  His thumb hovered over the button that would spring-propel the cover away and reveal the steel blade inside.  “Whoa!” he said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, we’re all good here, all good, we’re okay, hundred percent, yeah…” 

The raptor snarled. 

 _SnailEater!_  This one had a name!  Yes, he’d been introduced to this one.  This  monster _worked_ here, for Dionysus’s sake.  Malcolm had learned a sincere dislike for the nursing profession during his many long convalescences.  No big surprise to find a nurse that really _was_ a giant lizard.  He wondered if a T-Rex would make a good physiotherapist.  He _loathed_ physiotherapists. 

Malcolm looked around.  There was a whiteboard in the corner of Somersby’s office, with numbers and acronyms scribbled on it. 

“That,” he muttered, swinging the cane and pointing to the board.  “That, I’m, uh, I’m going to write on that, okay, yeah.” 

The raptor’s big yellow eye followed him, the slit pupil narrowing and contracting, and its long talons curled and uncurled.  He’d been watched with more warmth by iguanas, he thought.  Yeah, definitely a nurse…

He edged across the board, and picked up a marker pen,  without letting go of the cane, or turning his back on the dinosaur.  He picked off the lid between his teeth, and standing with his shoulder to the board, wrote one of his few phrases of Spanish. 

DONDE ESTA SOMERSBY? 

The dinosaur leaped across the room, faster than his eye could track.  He had the cane up, but he could never have jettisoned the cane’s sheath in time to defend himself, even if the thing had chosen to attack him. 

Instead, the dinosaur reached over to another marker and picked it up.  It picked off the cap between its teeth, and set the marker to the board. 

NO Sé.

That meant _I don’t know._   Malcolm had just communicated with an alien species.  “Top _that,_ Neil deGrasse Tyson,” he muttered, pleased with himself. 

The raptor kept writing.  It filled up a few lines of Spanish, the tip of the marker running more dry at every word, and then looked back at him. 

Malcolm’s command of Spanish was limited to a few phrases; just enough to delight his gardener, but not enough to communicate.  He stared at the whiteboard, and realized with a sinking feeling that he had been stumped by a velociraptor.  The monster spoke better Spanish than he did!  A dinosaur could do something that he, Ian Malcolm, could not do, and had not bothered to learn… He was suddenly relieved that Alan was not around to see him. 

The dinosaur seemed to think he was taking too long to think.  It reached out a forehand, and poked the marker at him. 

He took it without even thinking, and stared at the board.  NO Sé.  NO COMPRENDEZ, he wrote. 

Was that even right?  He didn’t know.  He looked at the dinosaur. 

Intelligent, Owen Grady said. 

Malcolm had already proven himself right.  He’d said that animals had gotten off that island.  People had scoffed.  It was over a hundred miles to the mainland; how could any animal swim that far?  He’d known he was right, but nobody had believed him.  But now everyone would know.  He’d proven his case.  Everyone would see once again that Ian Malcolm knew better than they did. 

The dinosaur was looking at him.  Its feathers were going up and down, thoughtfully.  It looked as if it was waiting for him to do something. 

He’d done what he came here to do.  He didn't have anything left to prove, so he may as well amuse himself. “Okay, so you can do, ah, romance languages.  But can you do math?  There’s the question…” 

He picked up his own marker, and pressed the tip to the board. 

1          2          3          4          5          6          7          8          9          0

He raised both hands, spreading all his fingers.  “Ten little piggies,” he said.  “See?  What do you make of that?”    

The dinosaur watched him, its feathers raised.  It raised its own marker, and then thought better of it.  It reached down to the aluminium frame under the board, and picked up the board eraser.  It erased some of Malcolm’s numbers, raised its pen in the other forehand, and wrote on the board. 

1          2          3          4          5          6          0

“No, no, no!  You’re wrong,” Malcolm said.  “ _Ten_ little piggies, not six.”  He crossed out the 0, and wrote 6 7 8 9 0 in its place.

The raptor snarled at him, and raised one thick avian forehand to show him.  

He looked at its forehand.  Three talons on each forehand.  _Six_ little piggies.  _He_ thought it was trying to count.  _It_ thought he was counting on his fingers.  It thought _he_ was dumb. 

 _He,_ Malcolm thought.  This one was a _he._   _His_ name was SnailEater. 

“Okay, fine,” Malcolm said.  “All right.  You can count.  Big deal – Alex the parrot could count.  Dogs can count.  That dumb horse the animal people are always ranting about could count.  How about arithmetic?  _That’s_ going to be beyond you, I know it.”

He wrote on the board.  2 + 2 =

“Here’s two fingers.  Here’s another two fingers, and what does that give you?  Yes, it gives you four fingers.  Thus two plus two equals four.” He wrote a 4 into the sum.   “Two plus two equals four.” 

The raptor watched. 

He wrote on the board again.  4 + 4 = 

“I have four fingers.  And now I have another four fingers.” He raised both hands, and set them alongside each other.  “Eight fingers.  Four plus four equals eight.” 

He drew an 8. 

“And now, eight plus eight.”  He drew the sum on the board, and then turned and stared at the raptor.  “Go on.  Impress me.” 

8 + 8 =

The raptor narrowed his big yellow eyes. He raised the pen, and wrote carefully.

 8 + 8 = 16. 

He didn’t _have_ 16 fingers, Malcolm realized.  He couldn’t be counting on fingers he didn’t have.  He wasn’t counting fingers, he was counting in his head. 

Ah, no.  He could not be learning that fast.  Owen Grady must have taught him to do this.  Basic arithmetic.  If you’ve already taught them to read and write, why not teach them to count too?  Grady had taught the raptors the Three Rs.

But the raptor wasn’t satisfied.  He put the pen back to the board, and wrote something else. 

34769 + 44989 =

He twisted his long head around, and stared at Malcolm with his eyes narrowed.  _Go on, impress me…_

That was a challenge.  Eight plus eight was clearly for dumb dinosaurs.  It didn’t think he was that bright.   “Oh, yeah?” Malcolm said.  “Is that how we’re going to play this?  You came to the _wrong_ neighbourhood, kid.  _I_ was doing mental arithmetic before you were – ah – hatched.” 

He closed his eyes, and pulled up his mental number-line.  The numbers glittered along it in all their bright colours, and he wove them together.  Prickly, aloof 9 hit it off with another 9, and produced a gorgeous 8 – a snug match.  The nine-times table was always so romantic. 

He strung the rest of the numbers together, opened his eyes, and wrote,  79758

“Hah!” Malcolm said, pointing at SnailEater.  “Top that, pal!” 

SnailEater opened his jaws, and made a wurbling noise. 

“Stick with me, kid!” Malcolm gloated, “And I’ll show you the _stars!”_

* * *

 

Damien Scott slung the duffel bag into the bottom of the boat, and then he and Michael Stonebridge shoved it off from the beach.  As soon as the boat was afloat they both jumped in before it could get away from them. 

The boat was long, and narrow, and had been dug out from a single enormous tree.  It  had just three thwarts, spaced well apart, to fit as much river cargo as possible between them.  Scott sat down on the middle thwart, as Michael got to work, lowering the outboard motor over the rough wooden stern.  The boat drifted idly in the river as Michael yanked on the starter cord, trying to turn over the engine.

“Good fishing!” the man who’d rented them the boat shouted from the jetty, waving his hand. 

“Many thanks!”  Scott waved his hand back. 

A few yards away, a couple of fishermen were mending their nets on the shore.  They were standing up,  tying knots with quick fingers,  and holding the bottom of the net down with their bare toes.  A couple of raptors were watching them closely as if the tying of knots was like magic – which it might as well be, Scott realized, since raptors didn’t have thumbs. 

Michael was yanking on the starter cord, his arm moving with the remorseless repetition of a Terminator.  Scott could sit back and enjoy the view for a moment as the boat drifted idly.      

The river looped around a small bluff that was probably an outcrop of the same geography that had formed the waterfalls upstream. On top of the bluff, rooftops of red tile and thatch poked up above the trees.  The older buildings on the hilltop had been built of stone, but the rest of San Judas Tadeo had been built out of wood.  The houses were all elevated on stilts, to keep them above the inevitable tropical floodwaters.  The water level had receded in the dry season, made worse by El Nino.  The town’s little jetties had been left standing out into sheets of mud, but in the rainy season the water rose to the feet of the houses. 

 On the north side – he turned on the thwart to look – the trees lined the river bank, and the tree-tops echoed with the cries of birds.  Scott could see mud and tree roots exposed, where the river’s water level had fallen.  The cries of the birds, echoing on the hot still air, were repetitive, sing-song – a constant aural backbeat to the life of the river.  It was green, and lush – the Amazon jungle of fiction and dreams.    Agribusiness, deforestation, the grazing of cattle had not reached this isolated corner of Colombia. 

“Peaceful,” Scott said to himself.  He’d become a soldier to protect places just like this from people just like himself.

And then, as if the cosmos was reminding Damien Scott that San Judas Tadeo was _not_ just another sleepy backwater, a velociraptor screamed shrilly.

Scott jumped. 

 “God, they’re noisy,” Michael said.  “I thought apex predators were supposed to be silent?  Did you hear the racket last night?” 

“Uh, no,” Scott scrunched his eyes.  “Me ‘n Maggie kept each other kinda busy.  Hey, Mikey, are you going to start that thing, or do you just want to drift back to Manaus?” 

“Shut up,” Michael muttered, his jaw gritted.  “This motor hasn’t been maintained.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed.  “The Thirties called;  Percy Fawcett wants his boat back.” 

“Percy Fawcett disappeared in Brazil, not in Col…” Michael said, and then the next yank on the starter cord made the engine turn over.  “There we go!  Where would you be without me, mate?” 

“Manaus?”  Scott suggested. 

The boat started to gather way.  Michael steered the boat around in a circle and pointed the long wooden bow into the current.  Scott watched the river bank passing. 

The forest was punctuated by clearings, and the thatch roofs of native homes.  The river bank was necklaced with small jetties, and fishing nets hung out to dry, and washing-lines.  Half-naked children playing by the river stopped to wave at them, and Scott waved back. 

Just upstream were the first of the rapids which led to the great waterfall.  San Judas Tadeo was as far as you could travel up the Rio Trejo without portaging your boat.  It was hard to imagine this was part of the same river that they had raced along, pursued by Miguel Gomez.  _This_ side of the waterfall was a living river; the main highway through this area.  Beyond the waterfall, there were no more houses; only Gomez. 

“Think we’re out of sight now, mate,” Michael said. 

“Gotcha!” Scott agreed.  He bent and unzipped the duffel bag, and pulled out Mikey’s AR-15.  “It’s coming!” he warned, and passed the long weapon to his partner. 

Michael snagged his rifle, checked it with the Mark 1 Eyeball, and stowed it out of sight by his feet.  Scott picked up his own AR-15, checked it, and put it back inside the duffel so the mud in the boat didn’t foul it, but left the duffel unzipped.  

“That feels better already,” he said. They were loaded for bear; each had a brace of pistols as well, and a knife, and extra magazines hidden around them.  Where they were going, they would need it. 

Michael steered around a bend in the river, cutting around another of those bluffs.  As the bend opened up, Scott saw another boat coming. 

“Green, ten degrees.” 

“I see it,” Michael said. 

“Holy shit,” Scott said, as the other boat came closer, and he saw who was in it.   He glanced down, just to make sure his AR-15 was still hidden at his feet.    

It was another dugout like theirs, with another unhealthy outboard motor.  It was weighted low in the water.  One man was sitting in the bow, another man was sitting at the tiller.  A velociraptor was sitting in the middle. 

“Fuck me,” Scott said, bemused. 

The raptor was sitting sideways in the boat, tail hanging over one gunnel, and holding onto the opposite gunnel with those long birdlike talons.  It looked for all the world like a large reptilian dog.  Its long face was staring morosely down into the water.  The man in the other boat’s bow raised a hand to them, as the two boats chugged towards each other. 

“Why is there a raptor sitting in your boat?” Scott shouted to the man in the other boat.  

The man in the bow looked around at the raptor sitting behind him, and then back at Scott.  “Because if she stands up she upsets the trim!” he called back. 

Scott realized that he couldn’t actually _argue_ with that answer.  He heard Michael chuckle. 

Then their boat was passing the other one, and the raptor was passing Scott. 

The raptor’s long face turned to follow him over the water, as the two boats moved past each other.   Its head pivoted on its long neck, its yellow eyes tracking him.  The inscrutable alien snarl didn’t change for a second.  The snarl wasn’t a facial expression, he realized.  It was just the way its face was put together, the same way the cheerful smile of a dolphin wasn’t really a smile.  The raptor watched him go out of sight without blinking. 

He watched the figure in the boat recede into the distance as the boat chugged away from them, until it disappeared around the bend in the river. 

“We have come to a very strange place,” Michael said. 

 “It’s not too late to turn around, and go back to Manaus.”

“Forget it,” Stonebridge said.  “We've got a mission to do."

"There are too many dinosaurs here," Scott said. 

"I like dinosaurs.  Came for the mission, staying for the dinosaurs."  

“I would never have guessed you were a dinosaur nerd, Mikey.” 

 _“Everyone_ is a dinosaur nerd, Scott.”

“Not me.” 

“Oh, come on.  Even you must have been a little kid once.”

“I was into football,” Scott said. 

“You must have gone through a dinosaur phase. Literally _every_ little kid, in the entire _history_ of little kids, goes through a dinosaur phase.” 

“Not me.”  

“Really?  You poor thing.  Poor sad little Damien.  I always knew you had a deprived childhood, and now I know why.” 

“Fuck you too, pal.” 

“When I was a kid, my mum gave me this great big book of dinosaurs, and I must have memorised every animal in it.  My grandparents took me to the Natural History Museum to look at the diplodocus there.  But my favourite was always the T.Rex.  You know, I learned something very interesting …” 

“Yeah, I’m not listening.” 

“No, this is actually interesting,” Michael said, raising one professorial finger, and Scott could see he was holding down a grin,  “Did you know that Jurassic World still has the _original_ T.Rex from the first park?  If you look closely, you can still see the scars on her neck from fights with the park’s original velociraptors.  She was on the island all those years by herself, and _nobody_ knows how she survived..."

“Still not listening…” 

“Her name is Rexy.  I’ve got a T-shirt at home with her face on it from when we …” 

 Scott stuck his fingers into his ears, and went,   “LALALALALA!”

Michael sat at the tiller and laughed at him. 

There was another bluff ahead, and Scott realized that the land was rising above them.  They passed the first few rocks, and he heard Michael calling.  “This must be the place!” 

“Yeah!” Scott called. 

The river was running narrow here, and the current was speeding up.  The creamy surface was breaking white here and there.  They were reaching the lowest reach of the rapids, beyond which their tired little outboard motor could not go.  Try, and they would smash this little dug-out on the rocks. 

“There it is!” Scott pointed. 

On the bank of the river, there was a break in the trees, and a stretch of mud.  It looked a lot like a place where a crocodile might lie and bask, but Maggie last night had promised him there were no crocs here. 

Michael put the tiller over and the boat’s stubby bow swung toward the beach.  As they ran up onto the sand Scott jumped over the side, in time to land in the mud and arrest the boat.  He dragged it ashore, boots squelching, and Michael hitched up the motor and the rudder.  They dragged the boat ashore, quickly but calmly, needing no words to work together. 

There was no need to hide their boat – it was local, it looked local, it would attract no attention.  They dragged it up, well clear of the water, and took their weapons out.   

“Taking point,” Scott announced, and struck off away from the river.  He hooked the strap of his AR-15 around his shoulders, and followed the narrow path away from the river.  He didn’t need to look at a map of the area.  He had been here two years ago, and with his photographic memory he only needed to look at any map once.    

Miguel Gomez had used the terrain itself as a barrier. The land around the waterfall fell away steeply, and none of the locals were welcome above it. Anyone attacking from the town was facing a steep climb. Beyond the waterfall, the road ran closely along the river’s bank – but there, above the waterfall, his patrol boats could run up and down the water at their pleasure. The local fishermen were not welcome up there. Gomez had built himself a road leading from the airstrip in San Judas Tadeo to his villa, so that any ‘guests’ would have to travel through countryside that was controlled by his men.  The road ran almost parallel to the river, and snaked its way up over the cliff around the waterfall. It was the fastest attack route, and it would be heavily defended. They would run into sentries if they went along the road.

Instead, they carried on along the river, making their own path. The ground began to break up and rise under them. They were climbing steadily now, and Scott guessed the river was tumbling rapidly. The forest was the way he remembered it.  This close to the river, the forest was dense, requiring him to push his way though.  He remembered the trees, the heat, the sounds, the smells. 

What Scott did _not_ remember from last time was the sense that he was being watched. He could feel eyes on him.  They were under observation.  They were being followed. 

He inhaled. No smells of gun oil, toothpaste, cigarette smoke, or petrol – usual dead give-aways of soldiers. He could see nothing; nothing broke the pattern of the rainforest, like the corner of a boot-heel, or the tiny circuit of a gun barrel. The trunks were spaced far apart here; he could see clearly around him for fifty feet, but a hidden sniper further away would have his aim blocked by the trees. There was nothing here, but the hairs on the back of his neck were standing upright.  

His senses were telling him one thing. His instincts were telling him something else. They were being watched.

A branch snapped...

Scott held up one fist, and sank to a crouch. He knew without looking that Michael had come to a stop as well.

Sweat was trickling into his eyes and his shirt was sticking to his back.

"What is it?" Michael whispered.

Mikey knew him too well. "I don't know," Scott said. "Someone's here. Watching us."

"Your sense of smell again?"

What Michael meant was Scott's instincts for a trap; his sense for when the situation 'smelled' wrong. Michael was stronger, faster, more agile, and more resilient, and they both knew it. Scott had better instincts, and they both knew it. Michael trusted Scott's sense of smell.

"Someone's watching us."

Scott scanned his eyes around, adjusting his focus in and out in an attempt to force a human silhouette out of the shadows, but there was nothing there. He could see clearly all around him for fifty feet around him, and there was nowhere for anyone to hide. There was nothing there. Scott squeezed his eyes shut, and looked again. Near – far. Nothing. He kept his eyes moving, darting from side to side, but he saw nothing. Nothing broke the regular pattern of the forest; no sharp angles, no patches of colour that didn't quite match. No smells out of place. There was no sound, other than a deep hum of insects, and the disinterested cries of birds.

"There's nothing there, mate," Michael whispered.

"Yeah," Scott whispered. He was getting jumpy.

"It's the dinosaurs," Michael hissed. "You know they're around, and now you're expecting them."

"Yeah you're probably right," Scott breathed back. He pushed himself back to his feet. Nobody opened fire. The view did not change. "Taking point," he whispered, and started moving, stepping silently over the leaf-litter, watching his feet so as to make as little noise as possible.

They heard the waterfall, before they saw it.  It was a hum in the air, unceasing, untiring.  Michael paused.  He pointed to his ear, and then pointed to the right, and they went in search of the sound.  Their feet found a path, weaving through the trees, and the air became damp.  The sound grew as they walked to a deep rumble. 

When they broke out of the trees, even Michael stopped and stared.  The path had led them to a lip of rock.  The edge of the plateau soared above them, a sharp silhouette against the afternoon sun.  The stone was sheer, hanging down like a curtain.  The plateau was sliced by a ribbon of white water, thundering down from the sky in a plume. 

They were standing at the base of the plume, looking up at it.  Scott could feel water condensing on his skin.  His eye picked out a skein of falling water, and followed it down from the top, down, down, until the skein disintegrated into the boil of white water and mist at the base of the fall. 

“The Lost Cause Falls,” Scott said aloud. There was no point keeping his voice down, against the deep roar of water. 

How high was that?  Sixty, seventy yards?  Eighty?  He tried to fix his eye on something at the top, to judge the height, but there was nothing up there but clinging  ferns.  The stone wall of the plateau stretched away out of sight above the trees. Scott had seen bigger falls than this – Yosemite, Niagara, Victoria – but this one was impressive all on its own.  There were no tourist kiosks here; no stalls selling souvenirs.  No people at all, to reduce the power of nature down to a human scale.  The  water pounded down in the secret depths of the Amazon year after year, unseen, unheard, uncaring about the human world.

“That’s actually quite striking,” Michael remarked.  For a man as phlegmatic as Michael Stonebridge, that was the equivalent of a howl of awe. 

Scott walked to the edge of the lip and looked down.  The water had cut a pool out at the base of the fall, forming a small lake.  He mentally added another four metres to the height of the falls.  On the far side of the lake, the river water surged over rocks, winding away between the trees. 

“And this is the dry season,” Scott said.  “Maggie said there are usually four plumes, there's only one now.” 

“The path up must be somewhere over there,” Michael pointed away from the plume, along the southern face of the cliff. 

“You still want to go up?” 

“This is your party, mate," Michael said. "Let's go find La Leona."

“Taking point,” Scott agreed.  He made sure the AR-15 was still slung securely, and struck off to the left across the lip of stone.  When he stepped off the stone, his boot sank down into lush green grass and ferns. 

He found the path almost immediately, and followed it.  The sound of the water soon dimmed beyond the screen of trees.  The narrow track wound about between the rocks and trees, the hanging plateau keeping pace with him over his right shoulder.  He hoped, for a moment, that the path wasn’t just a game trail, leading to the nearest patch of grazing, but then they turned around the base of a great tree, draped with lianas, and found themselves looking up at a cleft in the rock. 

Scott slung his AR-15 over his shoulder.  “Going up,” he said, and stepped forward.    He reached out a hand for the rock on his right, and was just about to lean on it when the stone came to life.    

What had been a lump of craggy stone suddenly bleached white.  The stone itself was coming to life, almost under his hand.  What had been crags of rock were the muscles of a living form, rising up out of the stone like magic.   Two piercing red eyes opened, and turned to look down at him. 

The transformation was almost instant, so sharp, and so sudden, that Scott staggered  backwards in shock.  A white dinosaur had risen out of nothing, where there had been stone a second ago.   

“They can camouflage!” Michael said. 

“Holy shit!”  Scott fell back.

The dinosaur was still moving.  It had been curled up on a tooth of rock next to the path, and now it was standing up.  Its long head and neck turned, almost elegantly, to look down at them, and with one long feline stride it stepped down from its rock to block their path. 

Scott had faced some strange things in his time, but this was too much.  There was a dinosaur in his way!  It was standing braced over the path, its weight swaying lithely from foot to foot.  It held out one forehand, talons braced stiffly in the air, as if it was directing traffic.   

“Fuck,” he said again. 

“I think this is the end of the line, mate,” Michael said, mildly. 

“I thought you were with me!” 

"I don't know about you," Michael said, philosophically, "but I'm getting very strong ' _You shall not pass!'_ vibes from this fellow.  And if there's anything I've learned about velociraptors, it's that they're a tad tougher than we are.  Give it up, Scott, this road is closed to traffic." 

"Screw that," Scott said.  "I came here to have a nice quiet little chat with Emilia Gomez, and I'm going to get it. I'm not letting an animal get in the way of the mission.  I'm going to go around."   He walked around the raptor’s rock the other way around. 

The dinosaur moved too.  As he walked around the stone, he found himself facing it again.  It had simply walked around the other side of the rock, and now it stopped in front of him and raised one forehand again.

“Hey!” he said, annoyed.  “Out of the way!” 

The monster dropped its head.  Its thick black talons flexed at the air, and then began to wave about in an intricate pattern.  It was saying something, in their sign language. Scott noticed for the first time that the colour-changer had thumbs.  The others hadn’t had thumbs, had they? 

 _“No comprendez!”_   Scott said, making the sign Maggie had taught him that meant, _I don’t understand._   He wagged his head from side to side in an exaggerated head-shake.  “No savvy!” 

He backed up, and went back around the crag of rock, quicker this time. 

The raptor met him again. He almost collided with it, nose-to-nose.  This time it snarled at him.  It raised its hands and signed again, staring at him in the eyes.  

"I think he's smarter than you are, Damien," Michael observed. 

Scott had had enough!  He had places to go, people to shoot!  A quick burst under its tail would send it off.  A quick burst would send anything off.  A raptor was an animal, wasn't it?  Animals didn't like the sound of gunfire.  He unslung the AR-15.   “Fuck this shit."

"Hey, don't shoot him!" 

"Not going to shoot him, I'm just gonna –!”

The raptor moved so fast he didn’t see it happen.  One moment the AR-15 was coming down off his shoulder, the next instant he was staggering forwards.  The raptor had grabbed the barrel and wrenched it away.  It had moved so fast, there had been no time for his trained reflexes to react. 

The dinosaur let his weapon drop, and stood on the stock with one clawed foot.  It hissed, showing all its teeth, and signed something again, talons twitching as if it was playing cat’s cradle. 

Michael laughed – the bastard. 

“You think this is funny?” 

“It’s hilarious!” Michael said.  He folded his arms across his chest.  "I wish I could sell tickets." 

“Fuck that!  It’s an animal!  I don’t take orders from animals.”

“I hate to rain on your parade, Damien, but I don’t think our friend here has _read_ that memo.” 

The raptor was an animal; a smart animal, but Grady controlled them, and surely Scott could control it if Grady could?  Grady was a dolphin trainer, Maggie said.  How hard could it be, Scott thought, if a dolphin trainer could do it?  A dolphin trainer couldn't be a tough guy, surely.  Owen Grady's job was to stand next to the pool and blow a whistle and throw the occasional fish, wasn't it?  Anything a Navy dolphin trainer could do, Delta Force could do better.   Yeah, it couldn't be that hard. 

“If a dolphin trainer can control a raptor, I can control a raptor.  All I have to do is get it to move out of my way, and then we can go up and get on with the mission." 

Calm and assertive energy, he told himself.  He needed to walk forward calmly.  He needed to lead with his _chi_ , and believe in himself, and the raptor _would_ get out of his way.  Calm and assertive energy.  He could do this.  He summoned as much assertive calm as he could, and walked forward.  “No!” he said, firmly. 

It snarled, but it didn’t budge.

Calm, assertive energy, he told himself.   He summoned all his _chi._   Spoke from his solar _chakra._ He met the raptor’s eyes, and held out one hand.  “Stand down!  Bad raptor!” 

The raptor moved so fast he didn’t even see it coming.  Hard talons suddenly clamped around his waist and he was yanked off the ground.  “Hey!  Put me down!” 

The raptor simply rocked back onto its hind legs and stood up.  It was nearly seven metres in length, nose to tail, and Scott was dangling in the air, heels kicking.  It walked forward, carrying him like a baby.  He tried to yank at its talons but they were like rock. 

“Scott!” Michael yelled. 

“Fuck!  Put me down!”   He twisted his head to look down, and saw where he was.  “Are you fucking _kidd–!”_ and then the raptor let him drop. 

He hit the water boots-first and sank like a stone.  He struck out immediately but he was already tumbling in the current.  Water was up his nostrils too suddenly.  He opened his eyes under water into a white whirl of puddles, and struck upward for what he thought was the surface. 

His head broke the surface, and he coughed, and spat out water,  and swore into the air.  He oriented himself, and realized that although he was just treading water, he was moving.  The current was carrying him across the pool.  It was like a rip, he realized; no point fighting it until it had carried him where it was going.  “You asshole!” he roared, as the river carried him away. 

He felt the current let him go, at last, and he twisted himself in the water, and struck out for the south bank of the pool.  He grabbed a fistful of weed, and his legs found the bottom under him, and he stood up.  “Fuckin’ hell,” he spluttered, furious, and trudged out of the water. 

His clothes and boots were sodden wet, water streaming off him.  He stopped at knee-depth to pinch his nose and blow the water out of his nostrils, and dug his fingers in his ears to wriggle the water out.  When the _glong-glong-glong_ of his own index fingers ended, he heard a sound. 

 _“Ha-ha-ha-ha!”_ A soprano voice, and therefore not Michael Stonebridge. 

Scott’s head snapped up.  A few yards away, a boy was standing looking down at him, laughing.  The kid seemed startled at how fast Scott had zeroed in on his voice, because he clapped a palm over his mouth. 

He’d taken a dunk in the river and he was sopping wet.  To a kid, that was high comedy.  “Yeah, tell me about it!” Scott said in English, sure that the boy wouldn’t understand. 

“I’m sorry!” the boy said around his hand – in English – but his dark eyes were still crinkling with mirth, and his shoulder jiggled.  

A moment later there was a soft birdlike warble.  Along the river bank, a dense stand of ferns parted.  The long reptilian face and neck of another white raptor slid out into view.  It cocked its head enquiringly at Scott, curious as a chicken, and blinked its eyes at him.  Its hide was white, and then it wasn’t.  A fine pattern of green grew over its hide, and a few seconds later it was the same colour as the ferns around it. 

“Fucktastic, another one,” Scott said. 

“This is Ash,” the kid said, pointing to the raptor.  He reverted to Spanish.  “She’s mine.  She’s my favourite.” 

“Hello, Ash,” Scott said to the raptor, as if it could understand.  “My name is Damien, what’s yours?” 

He squelched out of the river and onto the mud.  The water streamed off his trousers and shirt. 

“I’m Cristian,” the kid said.  He had a round, delicate face, like a kid who should still be at home playing with his Lego. 

Scott sat down on the river bank and unlaced his boots, and the kid took the opportunity to come closer.  He watched Scott poured the water out of his boots, and then peel off his socks, and the nylons he wore underneath to prevent blisters.  He wrung them both out and started pulling them back on.  

“Hey, can you do the whole sign language thing?” Scott asked, wiggling his fingers in the Abracadabra movements of Raptor Sign. 

“Yes, I’m learning,” Cristian said, and his chest puffed out importantly.  “I’m _very_ good at it!  Ash is teaching me.  You want to see?” The green raptor slid out of the ferns to join him, and stood peering curiously at Scott. 

"That is just fantastic," Scott said.  He pulled his wet socks on, and laced his boots up again.  He pushed himself back up to his feet.  “Just what I wanted to hear.  You can interpret for me. Come on.  My friend Michael is just upstream.”   

River water squelched in Scott’s boots as he walked, with the boy and the raptor trailing along behind him.  The raptor was watching him closely out of its red eyes.  It was big, Scott saw; as tall as a horse, and much longer.  It dawned on Scott that it probably didn’t matter if the kid was up here all by himself.  With a velociraptor walking around after him like a giant dog, he was probably the safest kid in South America. 

 They found Michael on his way down, looking for Scott.  Michael had been jogging, but as soon as he caught sight of Scott he slowed down to a dawdle, as if he hadn’t been worried at all.  He had Scott’s AR-15 hooked over his shoulder. 

“Did you enjoy your swim?” he called to Scott. 

“Yeah, I gotta get back to my travel agent and tell her how much I love this place.  Michael, this is Cristian.”  Scott reclaimed his weapon, and slung it over his shoulder.  “And that right there is Cristian’s good friend Ash.”

The raptor bent its big green head down to the boy, and signed something.  Scott noticed that this one also had thumbs. 

"Ash wants to know if you are bond-mates?" Cristian asked. 

"Bond-mates?" Michael asked. 

Scott spoke before Michael could say anything.  “Yes, he's my bond-mate.  We’re bond-mates, aren’t we, Michael?” 

“Scott!” 

“Yeah, we are.” 

Michael shifted back to English.  “Scott, are you _nuts?_ Bond-mates?  You know what that is? That’s their bonkers inter-species bonding thing.” 

Scott laughed.  “Oh, come on, buddy!  It’s _perfect!_ ”

“No, it isn’t!  It’s mental.  This kid thinks we're like Grady!” 

"I don't think I'd mind being like Grady," Scott said.

"Are you crazy? Look at him.   Grady's mental!  He lives with a dinosaur."

“You gotta admit, it’s better than everyone thinking we’re screwing each other.” 

“I don’t _mind_ people thinking we’re screwing each other,” Michael growled. "It's better than Grady's weirdo kinky hetero-species love-fest!"

Scott laughed. "I'm gonna tell him you said that!"

"You're hopeless," Michael sighed. 

“What is… _mental?”_   Cristian asked, in English. 

Scott had forgotten that the kid spoke a bit of English.  “It means, yeah,  we’re bond-mates.”

 “Hey, what are you doing up here all by yourself, anyway?”  Michael asked.  Cristian seemed to be alone – apart from the raptor – and he didn’t seem old enough to be running around in guerilla-infested forest all by himself. 

“Just riding,” the kid said, and his bottom lip firmed up in what was obviously a twelve-year-old’s idea of being resolute. 

Scott had seen no sign of a bike.  Maybe the kid dropped it, when he saw Scott go for a swim.  “By yourself?” 

“I’m not by myself, I’m with her,” Cristian said, looking as if Scott was asking stupid questions.  “But now we're going to talk to  Nyiragongo.  He called to Ash  and said there are some stupid people trying to walk into the mine-field.” 

“Mine-field?” Scott echoed. 

“Up there,” Cristian pointed up, behind Scott. "Do you want to come and meet him too?" 

Scott turned and looked.  The kid was pointing toward the cliff – the cliff Scott and Stonebridge had been trying to climb.  “A mine-field, Mikey…” 

Scott knew exactly what the Devil's Gardens could do to a living person. He'd seen a man blown to shreds right in front of him in Kosovo - but instant death was not all a land-mine was designed to do. They were designed to spread fear, not death. They were designed to make innocent people afraid for their own footsteps - not just during wartime but for decades afterwards. Some countries had so many amputees from landmines, they had one-legged football teams...

“How do you know it’s a mine-field?” Michael asked Cristian.

“The raptors can see them,” Cristian said.  “And smell them.”

“They can?” 

“They can see _lots_ of things we can’t.  Ever since they got here, they go around and detonate all the mines they can find.  They find them, and then we throw a rope with a weight on it, see?  Boom, boom, boom.  No more mines.  My Papa says without them it would take fifty years to clear all the mines in this country.  He says a team of four men and a dog can clear twelve mines in a day, but the raptors can clear them as fast as they can see them.”

Scott was reminded that Colombia had one of the biggest land-mine problems in the world.  It shouldn’t be surprising that a rural twelve-year-old knew all about land-mines ... it shouldn’t be, but it was.  It was a real fucked-up world, he thought bitterly.    

“Why don’t you clear them?” Michael asked. 

“Because StripeSide said not to.  That path,” he pointed beyond the trees, “it goes all the way up to La Leona’s land.  If we leave the mines on that path, La Leona can’t use it, but we can.  She’s very clever, StripeSide.  Everyone says she’s the cleverest dinosaur of them all.”    

“Animals know military tactics?” Michael said. 

“They’re not animals!” Cristian said, immediately.  “They’re dinosaurs!” 

They walked up the path, retracing Stonebridge’s steps.  In a few minutes they were  back at the same outcrop of rocks they had just left. 

Scott looked closely at the stone that loomed up next to the path.  He knew that stone was not a stone.  He _knew_ it was a dinosaur, but when he looked at it he could see only stone. 

And then the stone moved, and it was as if it had never been stone at all.  The dinosaur lifted up out of solid rock like a magic trick. 

Ash leaped forward to greet the raptor on the rock, and they sprang together, hissing and snapping.  They leaped up at each other, like dancers, striking at each other with those vicious curved claws retracted up like scimitars. 

Cristian didn’t seem bothered at all.  “That’s Nyiragongo,” Cristian said. 

“That’s not a Colombian name,” Michael said. 

“No,” Cristian said.  “It’s a volcano in Africa.  Uncle Owen’s friend from Africa named him, and he kept it because he likes it.”

Scott kept his eyes on the raptors.  He wondered what they were saying.  They finished trying to kick each other in the face and turned to look at the humans.  Scott found himself staring back into the great bony face of the raptor again. 

Ash whirled around to face Cristian, and signed something to the boy. 

A moment later Cristian turned to Scott with a scathing look on his face.  “Gongo says _you’re_ the idiot who tried to climb up into the mine-field!” 

“Yeah,” Scott said.  He could feel the heat moving up his neck.  Nobody could make you feel quite as stupid as a teenager. 

“Gongo says he _had_ to throw you in the river,” Cristian said,  “because he could see that you are too stubborn to listen.”

“Ha-h’m!”  Michael  cleared his throat, and hid his mouth behind his hand.   

“Er, yeah,” Scott mumbled.  Something else was called for, he realized.  He stared at the white raptor.  “Tell him, thanks.  He saved my ass.  I didn’t know it was a mine-field.  I would have gone galloping up that path if it wasn't for him.”  Standing on a land-mine would have taken off his leg and left him crippled. Even if he didn't bleed out, even if Michael was able to get him back to the boat and into Somersby's surgery in time, he would have been disabled for the rest of his life. Damien Scott owed his life and his healthy to a dinosaur... and he realized he didn't know what to say.

Cristian turned back to the white raptor and started signing. 

“Cristian?" Michael asked.  "Please tell him I say thanks as well.  He saved my bond-mate’s life."

"Really?" Cristian said.

"Yes, really. Tell him Scott’s all I’ve got – he's my oppo.  He's like a brother to me, and he'd have stood on a mine if it wasn't for him.  Tell him Michael Stonebridge is in his debt, and one day I hope I can repay him.” 

Cristian turned to the dinosaurs, and both of them paid very close attention as the boy signed carefully.  He signed slowly, much slower than Grady did, but he seemed to get his message across, because both dinosaurs swung their heads around and stared closely at Michael.  The white raptor changed.  The colours flooded over his hide, darkening.  Now his hide was a deep charcoal grey, streaked with fire. 

“That’s his name-colour,” Cristian explained.  “It means he’s happy to be introduced.” 

“Ah,” Michael said, looking at him and smiling angelically.  “Now I see it.” 

“See what?” Scott asked. 

“Cristian, please tell Nyiragongo that I have seen the volcano he is named after.” 

“You have been there?” Cristian asked. 

“Oh, yes.  It’s a long way from here, but I’ve stood on it, and I’ve looked inside.  Tell him the real Nyiragongo is very big, and very powerful, and very beautiful, and he does justice to his name.” 

Nyiragongo looked impressed, and signed something back. 

“He says, one day he wants to go there and see it himself.” 

“Tell him I am sure that he will, one day,” Michael said. 

Scott didn’t understand a word of sign, but he needed to say _something_.  He couldn’t let Michael Stonebridge do all the talking.  He pressed his palms together, fingertips close to his lips, and made a low and slow _wai_ in Nyiragongo’s direction. 

“Cristian, please tell him,” Scott said, “that in Thailand, where I’ve spent a lot of years, this is a sign of respect.”

Nyiragongo straightened his back and cocked his head sideways like a bird, as if he was puzzled.  Then he raised his talons, and pressed his forehands together.  He dipped his long scaly head over his forehands, returning the wai.  His colour flushed to a delicate egg-shell blue, and then through pink, and then back again to the charcoal-and-orange. 

"He likes you," Cristian said. 

"Yeah?" Scott said.  "I like him too. I've never had my ass saved by a dinosaur before. I reckon I could get to like it here." 

 


	6. The dance of deception ...

 

Thornton put down the satellite phone, and swore. 

He picked up his crutch, got up out of his chair and went out of the room.  His room opened into a wide breezy corridor that led to the veranda that ran around the villa.  The guard who always stood on the corner of the veranda saw him, and nodded, and stepped out of his way. 

Thornton found La Leona on the lawn, playing with her black jaguar.  The creature had a collar around its neck, attached to a long chain.  She fondled the cat’s silky black head, and it rolled over and batted its paws up to her. 

“Senor Thornton,” she said.  “Do you like cats?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, looking at the jaguar and wondering if it was fully grown. 

“I do.  So did my brothers.  There’s something so powerful about a cat on the end of a chain, don’t you think?  They’re such efficient hunters.  They have claws, and teeth, and speed, and night vision.  Once, long ago, their kind hunted our kind.”

“Still do, if they can.” 

“If they could,” she said.  “But now,  we keep them in cages and on chains to please us.  And do you know why?  Because _we_ are united.  Cats hunt alone, just the way they always have.  While we have changed.  We plan.  We coordinate.  We work in  numbers.  And these days, we rule the world, not them.  The big cats of the world live at our indulgence.  The idea – it’s almost erotic…” 

“Velociraptors also coordinate their attacks and hunt in numbers,” Thornton pointed out. 

“And that’s why we’re going to destroy them.” 

She rose to her feet, and nodded to a servant.  He picked up the end of the chain, and led the jaguar away.  The cat tried to resist, setting its claws in the lawn, but a firm tug on the chain convinced it to roll upright and slink away after the servant. 

“I’ve just had a call from my bloke in SJT,” Thornton said.  “And you’re not going to like it.”

“Mmm,” she said.  “Come with me?” 

She led the way to the veranda, where another silent maid appeared with beer for him and daiquiri for her. 

“So what’s the bad news?”  she asked.

Thornton put down his beer, and realized for the first time that he was afraid of this woman. 

The silent maids, the sentries, the guard tower on the end of the lawn with the searchlights that rolled over the grounds all night.  This place gave him a coil of tension in his stomach that was only winding tighter the longer he was here.  He had tried to explore beyond the end of the lawn, but a sentry had shepherded him firmly away back to the villa.  He didn’t want to find out what happened if he insisted on going beyond the lawn. 

“My spy has changed his mind,” he said. 

“Changed his mind?” 

“He’s gone bongo,” Thornton said, irritated.  “He’s changed his mind completely.  Now he says he’s not going to do his part.  And that’s not all.  He says he’s going to go over my head and cry to the new CEO of InGen.” 

“Can he do that?” 

“He can,” Thornton said.  “And he will.  And the CEO will listen to him, too.  If the CEO listens, the helicopters won’t come, and the men won’t come.”

“InGen owns these animals.” 

“Yeah,” Thornton said, irritated.  “They do.  And if InGen decides to wash their hands, it’ll take a massive international court case to force them to clean up this mess.  You know how long it takes big corporations to clean up environmental damage, when they don’t want to own up to it.  Remember Bhopal…?”

“Then there isn’t a moment to lose,” she said.  “We have our plans in place.  We know exactly where the animals are?”

“Yeah.” 

“Then we just move our schedule up,” she said.  “We wipe out the raptors now, before your man in San Judas Tadeo has time to get his message to InGen.  Once they’re dead, what can anyone do about it?  Sue?  We don’t need InGen’s teams.  My own men can fire the darts if you teach them how they work.  I can get more helicopters.” 

“We don’t need more helicopters,” Thornton said.   “We can use yours.”

“Just the one?”

“Just the one, yeah.  One will be enough.”

“How will we round them up with only one helicopter?  The rainforest is a big place?” 

“We don’t need to round them up,” he said.  “We do what the fuckin’ Abos have always done.  We drive them where _we_ want them.” 

“Abos?” she asked. 

“Darkies,”  Thornton said. "I fucking hate 'em."

"I see," she said, frowning.

"I've got a plan," Thornton said. “Because velociraptors are animals, and animals can be driven.  We can drive them into a trap, and then kill them all in one place. Because, like you say, ma'am, we're people, and people know how to work together.” 

She leaned forward, fascinated, and Thornton told her his plan. 

"And that will work, will it?" she asked.

"It will work," he said. "I'm already looking forward to watching those animals burn..."

“This isn’t just business for you, is it?” she said.  She smiled, a delicate curve on the glossy lips, but her eyes were cold. 

 “I’m an InGen employee,” he said. "This is my job."

 “No," she said. "For you, this is personal. Why did InGen send you?  They already sent one spy to San Judas Tadeo.  Why did they send you, too?  You don’t even speak Spanish.” 

Thornton met her coldness. 

“Because I _hate_ them! Look at my leg! I will never walk properly again, because of what that monster did to me! I hate them, almost as much as I hate Owen Grady.  Velociraptors should _never_ have been created.  They’re vicious – psychopathic – the most dangerous predators that have ever existed.  I don't know what the egg-heads were doing making more after what happened at Jurassic Park - but I am going to send every single one of those fucking things back into extinction where they belong!”

* * *

 

 

StripeSide watched as the humans in the town got ready for their celebration.  Their party was almost ready. 

It was the evening now.  She had woken up from her third sleep of the day, and found that FirstHuman had finished making her a new dead-flower chain.  He’d tied it around her neck, and then they had walked together to the town.  The square outside the healing-house was full of humans, gathering.  Their songs were sharp and high-pitched.  

StripeSide stalked around the edges of the square, keeping in the shadows.  She could smell roasting pig from the outdoor clay ovens.  The humans had slaughtered two pigs earlier in the day, and stuffed the carcasses with peas, beans, onions, rice, and all sorts of spices.  The pigs had been roasting all afternoon, and they would be roasting for hours more. 

By the time they were done, she thought, those pigs would be utterly inedible.  All that meat was going to waste, but the humans, being humans, would eat it anyway. 

The Real People did not understand the human habit of celebrating eating.  Surely it was the hunt which was the crucial part of the whole business, and not eating?  The pigs didn’t know they’d been stuffed with onions and roasted, did they?  No; the pigs had been killed, but that was as much as the pigs knew about it.  But the humans were going to eat the pigs and get all happy about it, as if feeding yourself was some huge achievement. 

Humans; fascinating, but bizarre.  She snapped her tail from side to side, amused.  The eating habits of humans were simply one of those inscrutable mysteries of the world, beyond the understanding of mere dinosaurs. 

Still, StripeSide knew what the humans were _really_ doing when they ate together.  She didn’t understand it – but she did understand its importance.  Eating together was a bonding ritual.  It was a _bizarre_ thing to bond over, compared with the warmth and togetherness of hunting, or fighting – but it was bonding behaviour, and because of that it was important to her, too. 

She turned away from the ovens, and continued across the square.  She scented RoundAlpha on the other side of the square, giving instructions to the humans of the town’s tribe.  She could smell SmallVoice, and OneEaredHealer, and the two observers. 

The old humans of the forest tribe – from which HighClimber and SnoresLoudly had come originally – were preparing the instruments for their dance.  They paid little attention to the Real People milling around, which gave StripeSide plenty of time to watch them, fascinated. 

The forest tribe humans were wearing their finest decorations.  Their daily clothes had been set aside for the occasion.  Feathers featured heavily, and strips of brilliantly coloured cloth wrapped around the hips, and they wore black or red paint on the skin.  StripeSide had been informed by HighClimber that this was the way her ancestors had dressed once, and these things were important.  She’d asked why they didn’t wear these clothes every day if they were so important, but HighClimber said some things were _too_ important to do every day. 

That made no sense either.  Bizarre creatures. 

She saw First Human walking with SnoresLoudly and BlueEyes on the other side of the square and felt her bloodheat flush with pleasure.  There, that was her human!  In this town of humans, that one there was hers!

The square was dark enough already that he would not see her if she did not go to him.  She left the forest tribe, and jogged toward her bond-mate.  She could smell the delicate scent of his gift of flowers, riding snugly around her neck. 

FirstHuman saw her coming.  He bared his teeth, and dipped his head in a nod.  SnoresLoudly and BlueEyes saw StripeSide, and walked on without him, with a scrap of human song.  

She came to a stop in front of him, staring at him closely, taking in his scent, his bloodheat, his appearance.  He stopped and stared back. 

<What have you there?> she signed. 

He raised his hands to show her.  She caught the smell of some sort of large capped fungus, and her repulsion flowed through her bloodheat.  “This disgusts me!”  Horrible.  For a moment she hoped he was only going to admire the vile things, but she already _knew_ he was going to eat them.

<Very nice> she signed. 

He bared his teeth at her, and let out a series of grunts.  He was laughing. 

She knew laughter.  She and WingWatch had spent many nights trying to decipher what laughter meant.  They knew it was a sound of pleasure; that was clear.  Eventually they decided it was a sound of recognition that some startling incongruence in the world around them was actually harmless and not a threat.  FirstHuman already _knew_ her true opinion on the eating of fungus.  He knew there was an difference between her real opinion of his ghastly eating habits, and her words.  That was the incongruence, and _that_ was what pleased him. 

He put the bowl of fungus on the ground to free his hands, and signed, <You can have half.>

<No!  Correction.  Nice for you, not nice for me!> she signed, to show him that she understood.

He made another series of grunts.  < All for me, none for you>  he signed, his teeth bared. 

She had made her human laugh.  She felt a flush of pleasure over her hide.  Any Real Person looking at her would see her delight in her bloodheat, but she didn’t care.  She had _made_ him laugh. 

She was slowly learning to understand human bonding behaviour.  He was a mammal; normal dinosaur behaviour did not make sense to him, so she needed to understand what did.  She needed to learn human bonding behaviour so that she could make him understand how deeply she adored him in a way that he understood.

<All for you, and I wish you joy of them,> she signed. 

<My intention is to eat these tonight,> he signed.  <On sticks I will put them, and on the fire I will roast them.>

<All for you, none for me,> she signed, and pressed her snout into his chest affectionately so that she could inhale his scent. 

There was a cry from the other side of the square, away from the tree.  A sudden flush of light blossomed, reflecting suddenly in FirstHuman’s eyes.   She whirled to see where the sudden heat had come from, alarmed. 

The humans had lit their bonfire.  She could feel the heat of the flames, even with both eyes open.  That was a big fire!  It bloomed like an evil flower in her heat-sense, and she rocked back onto her hocks, her neck snaking in alarm.  

A moment later, the drums started to boom out.  _Boom, boom-ba-doom, boom, boom-ba-doom boom, boom, boom-ba-doom …_ Someone gave a shout, and the people began to move around, banging their hands together and stamping their feet.  

FirstHuman reached out a hand and rested it on her spine.  She could feel the warmth in his palm, the affection in that touch.  _EasyBlue... Itsjustfirefire ... nothingtoworryabout....  Easygirl…_

She cast her head back to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.  His bloodheat was calm.  This did not alarm him.  If so, neither should she be alarmed. 

_EasyBlue…_

She turned her body around to face FirstHuman, and made a nodding gesture with her snout.   <Go,> she signed.  <I know you wish to be with your people.>

<You will be well?> 

<I am StripeSide!> she said, hiss-snapping.  <Destroyer of helicopters!  Of course I will be well!> 

<I will go, and be with TalksToBones.>  He bent down to pick up the fungus, and moved away.  She watched him go, weaving into the crowd of humans until he was out of sight. 

_Boom, boom-ba-doom, boom, boom-ba-doom boom…_

The forest tribe humans were moving.  They were all moving in a great circle, around and around.  At each step they were banging their hands, stamping their feet and shaking their bodies.  The drums were being beaten, and she found her eyes caught by the mesmerising rhythmic falling of the their drum sticks. 

They were coordinating their drumming so perfectly that each drum beat sounded as one sound.  How did they know how to beat those drums in such perfect unison?  How?  Something had to be telling them when to hit the drums, but what? She tried to spot someone who was telling them what to do, and could not. They weren't even all looking in the same direction! It looked as if they all _just knew_ exactly when to hit the drums - not just the same speed, but at exactly the same time too.  How were they doing that?  She’d found a whole new puzzle to add to the tangle of inscrutable human mysteries! 

_Boom, boom-ba-doom, boom, boom-ba-doom…_

And then someone started to scream. 

Other human voices joined in, wailing rhythmically with the drums, and they started blowing into pipes.  They were singing, she realized, or trying to sing.  The sound was horrible.  She found herself stepping back, neck swaying from side to side, until she collided with a couple of humans behind her who squawked in alarm.     

She’d heard FirstHuman try to sing – pumping his body, squeezing his eyes shut, and howling at the sky.  WingWatch said he sounded as if he’d caught his breeding-parts in something sharp.  She could imagine that _he_ thought he was singing, that he believed his vocal howling was similar to the pure chords and controlled frequencies of a true singer like WingWatch. 

But _this!_ This wasn’t singing!  They were just all howling together, as if they could make the swirling embers of the bonfire reach the stars faster!  They wailed, and the pipes screamed, and the drums boomed, and their hands banged together.  It was a chaos of clashing noises. 

_Boom, boom-ba-doom, boom, boom-ba-doom, …_

And the fire!  She’d never seen a fire so large.  Surely that was an unmanageable fire?  Did these humans really know what they were doing?  She looked around, but nobody was fleeing.  None of the humans seemed worried by the size of the fire.  The singing and dancing continued.  Maybe they had meant it to be so large? 

 _Boom, boom-ba-doom, boom, boom-ba-doom boom_ … 

She wanted FirstHuman.  _He_ could reassure her.  He could touch her face, and tell her that all this was alien but she had nothing to fear. 

She moved around the fringes of the human party, trying to find him.  She weaved her way through the crowd of humans who were watching the dancers, staying out of the firelight.  The bodies of the dancers sent the shadows jerking.  They looked horribly alien in the firelight, demented and alien and frightening.  The ones who were dancing were thumping around in a great circle, their bodies beating to the rhythm of the drum as if joined by some hideous alien magic. 

The heat of the fire bloomed horribly, blotting out the bloodheat of the people around it.  She couldn’t even see its temperature inside; it was just a blast of pure heat.  The flames were making a noise, a roaring, crackling sound.  It was casting off light, as well as heat, and it was radiating back from the bodies of the humans, swamping their familiar bloodheats.  The flames flickered madly in the humans’ eyes, as if they were all mad. 

She made her way around to the other side of the square.  There, finally, she spotted FirstHuman.  He was sitting on the other side of the fire, in a good place to watch the dancers.  He was sitting with a gaggle of other humans all around him, TalksToBones and RoundAlpha, SnoresLoudly and BluestEyes. 

She moved sideways, intending to press her way through the crowd of humans toward FirstHuman,  but then stopped. 

She could see him, although he had not seen her.  His eyes were lit up by the fire.  She saw him raise a bowl of something to his lips.  His throat clenched as he drank deeply.   He was watching the dancers as they thumped and bumped past him in their great circle, just a few steps away from him, and he too was jerking his body rhythmically at the same time as the beating of the drums.  He was being moved by the same strange wild magic that they all were, all coordinated, as if they were obeying some great tidal surge in their mammal blood.  His bloodheat was mirroring the heat of the fire, reflecting nothing of himself back to her, as if the fire had taken him over.  He was unrecognisable - alien - frightening!

She recoiled. 

He was lost to her now.  He was one of them, and he always would be.  He had gone off into his own mammal world which she could neither understand nor join.  Right now he was all human,  and entirely wild. 

She looked around.  She was the only Real Person still here.  She was alone in the dark and the clamour.  Even the Clouds had gone, giving up on their guard duties on the four visitors. 

The drumming changed tempo, picking up speed, going even faster.  _Boom-boom-boom ba-da-ba boom-boom-boom…_   The sounds thumped, the fire burned, the humans jerked.  There was too much movement, too much heat, too many smells, too much sound, all battering and clattering together.   It was essentially mammal, un-dinosaur, terrifyingly alien. 

A human bounced off her hip in the crowd, and she jerked in shock.  A human threw another log onto the bonfire, and the log exploded in sparks.  She jerked away in the opposite direction, tossed this way and that by the storm of heat and noise like a twig. 

No!  She had had enough!  This was more than she could bear!  She thought she could stay here for this important human ceremony, but she was wrong!  She did not have a place here.  The humans were paying her no attention, but this was no place for a dinosaur.  This was for humans, and humans alone. 

Getting out of the crowd was much faster than getting _through_ the crowd. They were all pressing in around the fire, and the dancers. 

In a few moments StripeSide was standing in the dark, breathing deeply.  The air was cool in her nostrils, away from the fire.  Away from the noise, she could think again.  She turned her back on the noise and the heat, lowered her head almost to the ground, and caught her breath. 

This was better.  She wished FirstHuman joy – but she would leave him to enjoy  himself here without her.  He was still hers; he would be hers tomorrow again. 

She stood taller, and called out to her pack. 

She heard the voice of JaguarPaw and MoonRain, and a moment later BitterTooth.  Their voices were coming from the hard ground beyond the town, where the flying engines landed and took off. 

She put her head down and ran, opening her strides for speed.  Her feet clapped the ground as she raced.  She sprang clean over the front of a rolling engine driving out of a cross-street, simply for the explosive release of it.   The human in it braked sharply in shock, but StripeSide was already racing away. 

When she left the houses behind, she slowed down, casting around for where her pack were.   The moonlight washed the landing ground coldly.  The Way of Spilled Milk was a splash of grey and black above her.  So many stars!  So pretty!  So big! 

So many stars, and they had looked down on the Old Ones just as they now looked down on her.  The Old Previous People had all died seventy-one million years ago.  The thought of those seventy-one million years always made her felt small and fragile, as if she could feel the burden of all that time bearing down on her.  The world was so big, and so old, and she was just one young dinosaur who wanted to change it. 

Well, she was just one dinosaur, but she was StripeSide.  If anyone could change the world, she would.  She picked up her speed, and ran until she saw the bloodheat of dinosaurs in the trees.  The Real People were here.  She recognised her own pack, and the pack of BentTail, and some of SilverNose’s People. 

“Alpha of Alphas!” BitterTooth greeted her. 

“You command here!” called BentTail. 

“I see you,” she replied.  “And you, GreenSnake, and JaguarPaw, and MoonRain…”  She went around the circuit, naming the Real People around her, so that they knew that she had seen them all, and was shy of none of them.  This was a big pack; it took a few minutes to acknowledge them all. 

“We wondered how long you would stay there!” BitterTooth said cheerfully.  “It’s horrible, isn’t it?” 

“They think they’re singing,” StripeSide defended the humans, snapping her teeth at him.  She could still hear the drumming from here, carried on the warm night air. 

“They are enjoying themselves, and that is all that matters,” YellowSnake said, fussily.  “We should not criticise behaviour that we have no way of experiencing ourselves.”   YellowSnake had a way of announcing the moral high ground in a tone that left no-one else with anything to add. 

“Oh, but I _can_ experience it myself!” BitterTooth said.  “I can experience it myself all the way from here!  And, hark, it is still horrible!” 

StripeSide saw and smelled another dinosaur approaching them.  She recognised FireMountain. 

“Alpha of Alphas!” he said.  “You command here.” 

“FireMountain,” she said.  She had told him to watch the visitors this day, and he must be coming to give his hunting-report.  “Come here, and walk with me.” 

“As you command,” he said. 

She picked herself up into a jog, and he fell into step at her side.  They jogged down the open ground of the flight-engines’ track.   When she was sure she was out of hearing of the others, she stopped.  FireMountain stopped alongside her, politely parallel. 

“Where are the visitors?” 

“They are among the humans around the dance,” he said.  “I … um…”  His bloodheat flashed his embarrassment. 

“No, neither could I,” she reassured him, before he could explain.  “No matter.  What did they do today?”

“They went upriver,” FireMountain said.  “Left their boat, and tried to climb into the Lioness’s land.” 

She listened as he described where BridgeOfStone and SmokeyOne had gone, and what they had done while believing they were alone. 

“Ground-bombs?”  she queried. 

“Yes,” FireMountain said. 

“Did they not know they were there, then?”

  
“It appears they did not.”

StripeSide scratched the underside of her chin with her talons.  “Interesting,” she said.  If these two strangers were servants of the Lioness, surely she would have told them where the ground-bombs had been hidden?

“SmokeyOne was quite insistent that he wanted to climb the path,” FireMountain said.  “It wasn’t enough to reveal myself.  I had to take away his weapon and throw him into the river to stop him.  Fortunately, I met WoodAsh and RoundAlpha’s boy, and they explained.” 

“They met no-one else?” StripeSide said. 

“No.  And they called no-one else on their communication devices.  I was close enough to hear, all day.  They are alone here.  The only human they have spoken to in confidence was LoudVoice.  And SmokeyOne spent last night with LoudVoice.  Mating, I think.”

“He did?” StripeSide said.  That was not good news.  She had an idea that her own human wanted to mate with LoudVoice.  FirstHuman was going to be jealous when he found out. 

Some dinosaurs would say he shouldn’t be jealous at all.  StripeSide was his bond-mate; the only person he should be jealous about was _her_ – but she’d lived around humans long enough to understand that human mating behaviour did not work that way.  It seemed that human males never went into season, because they never went _out_ of season.  Human mating jealousy had nothing to do with dinosaurs. 

“They know her well,” she said.

“They know each other well, too,” FireMountain said.  “They say they are bond-mates.” 

“This, I doubt,” she said.  “Humans don’t form bonds with each other outside their mating bond.  Not as far as I know.” 

“That is what they said to SmallVoice,” FireMountain said, his bloodheat flashing, “I care not.” 

“Well, if it is true or not, you have given me much to think about,” she said to him.  “That was well done today, young one.  And what you did for that human was very well done also.” 

“I don’t think he liked being thrown in the river.” 

“He knows you saves his life.  He’ll remember that.  He won’t forget that you are the Real Person who saved his life.”  

FireMountain’s head snaked from side to side, his bloodheat flashing doubt.  “Am I?” he said. 

She looked at him closely, struck by his tone.  “Are you what?” 

“I have a question to ask you, Alpha of Alphas.  One that worries me and my sisters greatly.”

“Ask it.” 

“We, of the Cloud People.  Are we really Real People?” 

She paused.  She tamped down her bloodheat so her surprise did not show, but she was too late. 

“Ah,” he said.  He sat back on his hind legs, sinking down into the darkness onto the ground.  “I suspected, but I knew not.” 

She inhaled deeply, sucking air into her lungs, and realized as she was doing so that she had mimicked that mannerism from FirstHuman.  It signalled, ‘I am thinking, give me a moment.’

“What are we?”  he asked.  “Who are we?  Why are we?” 

“You are Real People,” she said. 

“We are not Real People.”

“Do your sisters know that you are asking this question?” she asked. 

“Copper asks it.  WoodAsh refuses to even think about it,” he said, sounding sad.  “But I am asking you.  I remember, you see, and my sisters do not.  I remember a big bright building, and humans, and we were tiny.  I remember ShinySmoothHead carrying me from there in his shirt, and we never went back there again.  And I remember that you were there too.  I know that you know.”

“Look around you!” she said, but before she could continue she was interrupted. 

“StripeSide!”  It was SnailEater’s voice.

MoonRain took up the cry as well.  “We have great news, StripeSide!” 

“We will speak on this later.  To that I swear!” StripeSide said to FireMountain.  She turned, and screamed into the dark.  “I am here!”

She could see the bloodheat of dinosaurs approaching, and even from a distance she could recognise the pleasure in SnailEater’s bloodheat. 

“SnailEater?” she called.

SnailEater skidded to a stop in front of her.  “I think I have found my bond-mate.  At last!” 

“Have you?”  she cried. 

Poor SnailEater had been alone since Wasp had died.  He’d wanted to find a human bond-mate – no Real Person could ever hope to replace Wasp – but so far he had not found one.  SnailEater was too set in his ways, too arrogant, and too stubborn for any of HighClimber’s people. 

“Who?” FireMountain asked. 

“TalksToNumbers!” SnailEater said. 

“What news is this?” StripeSide said, incredulous.  _“Him?”_   FirstHuman had taken an instant dislike to TalksToNumbers.  He hadn’t said so, but she could see it in his bloodheat.  When he spoke to TalksToNumbers his jaw muscles grew warm from clenching his teeth. 

“I have been talking to him all afternoon!” SnailEater said. 

“How?” MoonRain asked.  

“With numbers!” SnailEater said.  “We have been playing with numbers, all sorts of clever games with numbers, all afternoon.  He’s perfect!  So clever!  So many numbers!  Such knowledge!  Such a fine, clear, expressive bloodheat!  Such a fine smell – and such handsome teeth!  FirstHuman and SingsAlone taught us numbers, but not to play such fine games with them!  Ah, yes, yes, all is clear!  Not only have I found a human, I have found the _finest_ human!  Mine, mine, all mine now!” 

His pleasure at his new discovery was too much for him, and he leaped at StripeSide  with his killing claws.  She sprang to meet him, and deflected his kick with her own. 

He’d forgotten his place in the pack, but she could forgive him in his explosion of happiness.  His bloodheat was pulsing so strongly with ‘I am happy’ that he looked ready to burst. 

“This is fine news!”  she snapped at him, and gave him a _real_ kick.  Her killing-claw lodged in his hide, and blood tanged the night air.  “A bond-mate, a human bond-mate!  I congratulate you!” 

“I am going to court him,” SnailEater said, “and he says he is going to court me.  He  has expressed through OneEarHealer that he will receive my gifts with welcome!” 

“A human bond-mate!” MoonRain said.  “This is a very fine thing, StripeSide!  JaguarPaw!  Bent-Tail!  Come here!  Come and hear SnailEater’s fine news!” 

“There is nothing so fine as a human bond-mate,” StripeSide said to SnailEater.  “Ah, they are stubborn, and their behaviour is confusing, and their needs are bizarre – but a human!  It is a privilege, that is what it is.” 

JaguarPaw arrived, and leaped into the air.  “I remember courting BlueEyes!” he said.  

“I feel like fighting!”  StripeSide said.  “Who wants to fight?” 

“I feel like singing!” SnailEater said. 

MoonRain tipped her head toward the stars, and launched into the bold opening chords of the Bond Mate Song.  JaguarPaw matched her, and their voices melded together.

StripeSide felt a shiver of memory run down her hide at the old song.  She wasn’t much for singing, but _this_ song all the Real People knew.  She raised her head and threw her own voice into the song. 

All of them would sing the Bond Mate Song, and in the town the humans would sing their own alien song.  Together their chorus would travel out and up, a wave of song  rolling out to the stars, telling the Way of Spilled Milk that a new world was here, and it was wonderful. 

* * *

 

 

“Here comes your friend Flavio,” Alan Grant said to Owen, pointing across the firelit square with his fork.

Owen looked up.  Flavio was heading toward him across the firelit square toward where Owen sat with Alan Grant and the rest of La Patasola’s humans.  

The _lechonas_ had roasted in clay ovens for nearly ten hours, and now they had been cut up and shared out by Mayor Guerrero and the Andaqui shaman together. 

The people around the square had broken up to perch on benches and random chairs, eating their fill and drinking and talking. 

Grant was perched on a camping stool.  Owen was sitting on a raised tree root with his plate balanced on his knees, and his mug of _guarapo_ parked on the ground at his feet.  Carlo was telling stories and eating at the same time, complete with exaggerated miming for effect, and it was a wonder that he kept his plate upright.

“Mph,” Jorge agreed around a mouthful of roast pork, nodding his head to make the grunt sound sociable.  Victoria said nothing, but that was usual for Victoria; her raptor JaguarPaw usually spoke for both of them. 

“Flavio, my friend!  You’re missing out on all the fun!” Carlo shouted, around a mouthful of cornbread. 

 “Owen!” Flavio said.  He changed direction, heading toward where Owen was sitting.   

“Sit down!” Owen said.  He was feeling sated, and slightly drunk, and he greeted Flavio with a wave.   “Have some _lechona,_ there’s plenty left!” 

“Never mind the _lechona!_ ”  Flavio held out a portable radio to Owen.   “Listen to this!” 

“What is it?” Owen asked.  He wiped his fingers on his jeans and took the radio. 

“You tell me!” Flavio said.  “Listen to it.” 

Owen turned the radio on, and held it up to his ear. 

He heard nothing – and then he heard everything.  _Wheee-zim-zim-zim…_

“What’s that?” Grant asked, pointing to the radio with his fork.  “Some kind of interference?” 

“It’s the raptors talking,” Owen said. 

“Change the frequency?” Flavio said. 

Owen turned the knob, carefully scanning the airwaves.  _Zim bi-bi-bi-bi zimmmm bi-bi-bi-bi…WeeOOOOOO…_

“It’s across all the frequencies!” Flavio said.  “What is that?” 

“They’re singing!” Owen said.  He felt a smile light up his face. 

“They sing?” Grant asked.  He looked around the firelit square.  “Where did they all go?”

“They made themselves scarce as soon as the bonfire was lit,” Owen said. 

“They don’t like fire,” Carlo explained.  “It messes with their – how do you say it? – with their sense of heat.” 

“Fire confuses them,” Owen said.  “And they don’t like loud noise either.  So they’ve gone out somewhere.  They’ll be back.” 

“This interference?” Flavio said, pointing to the radio.  “It’s not a problem?” 

“It’s not a problem,” Owen said.  “It’s just singing.”    

“We’re here singing,” Carlo said, “And they’re there singing.” 

“I wonder what they’re singing about?”  Jorge wondered. 

“Something bad?”  Flavio said. 

“If it was something bad they’d have told us,” Owen said. 

“Maybe somebody laid an egg?” Carlo said. 

“Here?” Owen said.  “Besides, who’s laying now?  Nobody that I know.” 

“You would know?”  Grant asked. 

“StripeSide would know,” Owen said.  “And she would tell me.” 

“Here comes Ian,” Grant said, pointing with his fork.  “Ian!  Come and listen to this!” 

Owen looked up from his plate.  Ian Malcolm was coming over.  He was marching briskly, and swinging his cane up in the air with each stride.  He looked like a pukka Victorian colonel, coming to inspect the sepoys before tiffin, what-what?      

Ian Malcolm arrived, and stopped in front of Grant.  “I am in love!” he announced. 

“What, again?” Grant said.  “Who’s the lucky girl?” 

“She’s a he,” Malcolm said. 

“Okay.”  Grant coughed.  “ _That’s_ a first.”   

“And he’s a dinosaur!”  Malcolm said. 

“What?” 

“May I sit down here?  Of course, thank you,” and he sat down next to Owen.  “Are you all right, Owen?  Are you choking?  Have a sip of your – ah, whatever that is.”  

Owen was coughing so hard he couldn’t breathe for a moment, but he shook his head mutely and waved his hand before anyone could decide to pound on his back.  He’d inhaled, and a piece of half-chewed cornbread had gone down the wrong chute.  He picked up his _guarapo_ and drank, and swallowing cleared his throat. 

“What do you mean, you’re in love?” Grant spoke for both of them. 

“I have been in the clinic all day,” Malcolm said, “talking to SnailEater.”

“SnailEater?” Owen croaked, his throat still burning.    

“We’ve been talking about Euclid all day!  He’s fantastic!  Wonderful!  So precocious! Such an easy grasp of geometry – we’ve been talking about Euclid all day, and a bit of trig, and he gets it all, almost without any trial and error at all!  I’ve never had such an apt pupil!”

“You’ve what?”  Grant said. 

“I’ve made up my mind,” Malcolm said, and he rapped the end of the cane on the ground for emphasis.  “I am staying here.  And to think Sagan was messing around with gold plates and prime numbers!  All he needed was a Spanish-English dictionary and a dinosaur!  Owen!  Where’s your camera-waving friend?  I want to make a speech.” 

“Oh, God,” Owen said.  “You?” 

“You’re babbling!” Grant said to Malcolm. 

“I know,” Malcolm said.  “Wouldn’t you?  I think I’m in love.  I think this is it.”

“I’ve heard you sing that song before, Ian.” 

“Not like this!  Maybe that’s why none of my marriages have lasted?  Maybe I’m not really looking for a woman?  Maybe all this time without even realizing it I’ve been looking for a dinosaur?” 

“I don’t think it works like that,” Owen said. 

“I don’t care.  He’s wonderful.  Beautiful.  Glorious!  Such lovely eyes!  Such expressive feathers!” 

Hopeless, Owen thought.  He sounded as loony as Lowery.  Owen was glad he himself had become StripeSide’s dyad slowly, and over a nice rational period of time.  He turned his head, and found himself meeting Jorge’s eyes.  Jorge looked as stunned as Owen felt.  Jorge raised one hand, and made a single sign.  <Him?> 

“Where is he now?” Grant said, looking around. 

“I don’t know,” Malcolm said.  “He said he had things to do.” 

Oh, God, no, Owen thought to himself.  StripeSide had been considering SnailEater to sire her eggs!  If StripeSide chose SnailEater, Owen would be stuck in the raptor’s nest with Ian Malcolm for four whole months the way Lowery was stuck with SmokeShell and OnlyFiveFingers!  He would have to tell her he didn’t want to co-parent with SnailEater after all.   

“You can’t take a raptor back to the States with you,” Grant pointed out. 

“I am going to stay here,” Malcolm.  “I’m going to resign my tenure.  This place is far more important than tenure!  You know it too, don’t deny it.  What we’ve got here – what Owen and the pack have here – this is going to change the world!  This is a new chapter in human history!  And it has to be protected, at all costs.”

“You’re insane!” Grant said. 

“Ah, that’s what they all say,” Malcolm said.  “And then later, I am always proven right.  Owen – you need to start teaching me Raptor Sign.  First thing!” 

“Owen!” Flavio said.  He raised the radio and wagged it in the air.  “I know what they’re singing about!” 

“They’re singing about you!” Carlo said to Malcolm. 

“Me?” Malcolm said. 

“Apparently the raptors are out there somewhere having a sing-along,” Grant said to Malcolm.  “They’re jamming our radio signals completely.” 

“They sing?”  Malcolm asked. 

“Yeah,” Owen said.  “They can get a good range, too, if they all sing together.” 

“Radio signals from another world.”  Malcolm pressed his palms together and smiled angelically.  “Thank you, Dionysus!” 

 “I need to find StripeSide,” Owen said.  He scraped the last of his cornbread into his mouth, and swallowed it down with guarapo.

“Need someone to come with you?” Grant asked. 

“Nope,” Owen said.  “You stay here, and enjoy your pork.” 

He stood up and drained the last of his _guarapo_ in one gulp, then threw his paper plate into the depths of the fire.  He would go where he always went when he had a question he couldn’t answer: he would find StripeSide. 

The party was winding down, sated and sedated by dancing, heat, alcohol and too much pork.  The youths who like to hang out in the barbershop showing off their muscles had brought out a boom box, and they were smoking and passing a bottle of _aguardiente_ around between them.  The Andaqui were telling stories in the firelight, their bodies gilded by firelight.  Guerrero was holding court with the Chamber of Commerce.

Owen walked past them, navigating by moonlight and memory.  He turned the corner by the church. 

He heard the raptor before he saw her.  In the moonlight, he saw the stripe down her side, and for a moment wondered if it was JadeTapir or RiverStone.  Both of them had lengthwise stripes down their bodies, although theirs were brown and not blue. 

He paused.  “Blue?” he called. 

The raptor made a trilling call, and he knew that it was StripeSide.  No other raptor knew the meaning of the word ‘Blue.’  And no other raptor would make that happy noise at Owen Grady.  She turned toward him, coming into the pool of light thrown down by the light outside the church’s door. Now he could see her blue hide and the loop of flowers around her neck. 

<I greet you!> he signed, as he walked to her. 

She hissed at him, dropping her jaw and showing him all her teeth.  <I greet you!> 

He walked up to her, and held out his hands, and she took a step toward him and lowered her snout.  He felt her breath on his face.  “There’s my girl,” he said. 

He’d come looking for her; she’d come looking for him, as soon as the fearsome fire had burned down.  He found his affection swelling inside his heart.  He popped a quick kiss onto her upper lip.  _Mwah!_

She whipped her head away from him.  Her snarl rippled over her lips, and her eyes narrowed into slits.  He laughed at her expression.  “Hey, Blue.  You don’t scare me,” he said. 

<Not to be doing that!> she signed. 

<It is too comical, your response!> he signed, and laughed again.  <We heard singing,> he asked.  <Why do you sing?> 

< We sing because we are happy!  SnailEater thinks he has found his bond-mate!  For this we celebrate!> 

<It is TalksToNumbers!> 

<How do you know this?>

<Because TalksToNumbers told us himself,> he signed.  <TalksToNumbers is very pleased.> 

<This is very good news!> she signed.  <It is a very great gift to have a human for your own!> 

It amused him that she thought that way.  He was just a man.  There were billions of other men just like him, and only one StripeSide, but she thought _she_ was the lucky one.  He was only special because she thought so – and he was very aware of how lucky that made him. 

<How did you know I was looking for you?> he asked. 

<I was looking for you,> she signed.  <I desire your advice, your wisdom, your age – and your understanding of a problem I can discuss with no-one but you.> 

<We are alone?>

She stepped back, and her long head and neck swung this way and that, scanning quickly around her.  <We are alone.  None observes, none listens.> 

She would know.  She could see better in the dark than he could, she could see thermal radiation, and she could smell things he couldn’t even imagine.   <Ask, and I will answer,> he signed. 

<FireMountain asked me a question, this night.  The Clouds have noticed that they are not Real People at all.  He asks what they are.> 

“Ahhh,” Owen said.  “Hmm.”  He raised his hands, thinking through his signs before he replied.  <SmallVoice tells me that WoodAsh has asked him the same question.>

She cocked her head.  <FireMountain says that WoodAsh denies that they are different.> 

<Perhaps WoodAsh does not talk to them about it, only to SmallVoice?>

<There are many things one confides in one’s bond-mate that one does not share with anyone else,> she agreed.    

<Truth, this,> he agreed.  <We should tell them.> 

<We agreed that we would tell them only when they were two years old,> she signed. 

<I think that time has come sooner than we thought,> he signed.    

She straightened up to her full height, and turned her long head up to stare at the stars.   <They have grown faster than we expected.  They are old enough now to ask questions.>

He reached out a hand to touch her jaw, drawing her attention to himself.  <Questions that will not go away,> he said.  <We should tell them the truth.>  

She lowered herself.  <Questions that I am loath to answer.> 

<This is my advice,> he said.  <They have a right to know where they came from.  They are not stupid.  They can see that they are different to you.  They know that they are not your kind.>

She cocked her head.  The glint of the electric light danced in her eye.  < I would not have them know all that happened on the Island of Clouds.   I would not have them know that their mother was a monster.  Nor that when I look upon them, I see my sisters lying dead in the ashes of fire.>

She remembered what had happened at Jurassic World the night the Indominus Rex escaped.  She had lost two of her sisters that night.  Owen had laid awake at night, wondering what might have happened if Vic Hoskins had not shouted the order to open fire, and wrecked any chance of communicating with the Indominus. If all that had not happened, poor Charlie and Echo would have survived.  But if all that had not happened, Blue would not have been able to see the park at her leisure and work out that she was considered an animal, and confined in a cage as an animal.  If that had not happened, Delta would never have picked up that piece of wood and tried to write on it.  Everything that had brought Owen here to San Judas Tadeo had come about because the Indominus escaped. 

<The Clouds are not their mother,> Owen signed.  <They should know who she was, so that they know who they are.>

< I cannot see that knowing they are born from a monster will help them,> she asked.  <Would not you worry that you were a monster too?> 

He moved, so that he was standing at her side, instead of in front of her.  Physical direction was important to raptors.  It mattered to them which way you were facing when you were together.  He didn’t understand it at all – but he did understand its importance.  It was social bonding behaviour, alien as it was, and because of that it was important to him, too. 

 <The Mad Giant Person was not a monster,> he said.  <She was like you, but raised in isolation, confined, without a pack.  A human child raised alone becomes as EatsPlants is.  A Real Person raised alone becomes the Mad Giant Person.  The Clouds are not alone.  They are different, but they are not alone.> 

<Perhaps.> 

<The Clouds should know the truth.  These questions will not go away, and we should tell them now before they mistrust us.  That is my advice.>

<I will think about your advice,> she said. 

<Would you have me tell them?> he asked. 

She looked at him, and blinked her eyes.  The hide over her antorbital fenestrae moved in and out. 

<Their mother did not slay anyone who was my sister,> he said. 

<I would have WingWatch tell them.  Or ShinySmoothHead,> she said.  <He raised them, far more than you or I.  But he is not here.>

ShinySmoothHead – Owen’s friend Barry Bompaka – admired the work of Dian Fossey the way Owen admired Steve Irwin.  Barry was at WingWatch’s nest, observing velociraptor nesting behaviour, and taking exhaustive field notes.   Owen missed him. 

<I will tell them,> StripeSide said.  <I am their Alpha.  They should hear the truth from me.>

<If you change your mind,  I can do it.  But I do believe that we should not take too long.  Secrets are like broken teeth; they fester if they are left undrained too long.> 

<Truth, this,> she said, and bumped her nose against him.  He’d been forgiven for his surprise kiss. 

<Walk with me,> he signed. 

<Gladly.> 

She kept pace with him, keeping her long head close to his side so that her tail trailed behind him.  The raptors were coming back into town, now that the noise of the dance had stopped and the fire had died down.  They walked past the other end of the church, and turned downhill to go back to the raptor pavilions. 

StripeSide stopped short, and turned.  She sniffed the air, her head and neck ranging back and forth. 

<What is it?>

<Interesting noises,> she signed. 

He turned in the direction she was scanning.  She hissed.  <It is the SmokeyOne,> she said. 

Damien Scott, the soldier.  Owen felt his heart beating harder.  Both soldiers had been at the fireside, and both of them had disappeared. What the hell was the soldier doing this time of night?  Skulking around in dark corners?  <What does he do?> 

StripeSide recoiled back onto her hocks, pulling herself inward and down with a hiss.    <Nothing of interest to you,> she signed, but he saw her neck snaking back and forth uncertainly and her killing-claws were tapping the ground as if she wasn’t sure if she should attack or not. 

For a creature with such a rich social life, velociraptors were remarkably oblivious to their own body language.  One reason they’d been unable to read the body language of humans was that it just didn’t occur to them that mammals used tiny shifts of their bodies to communicate non-verbally, instead of tiny shifts in skin temperature that were instinctive to dinosaurs.    

<If he hides there, I will know what he is about!> Owen declared, and stomped past her. 

<No!> she signed.  With a hiss and leap, she was standing in his way.  <That is not for you!> 

<I will see!> he signed, and stamped past her. 

She tried to grab at him with her claws to stop him.  He ducked around her, but one long black talon scraped against his upper arm, stinging painfully.  She recoiled in shock, and he took the chance to break away from her.  She whirled around to pursue him with a hiss-snap. 

“Damien Scott!”  he bellowed. 

There was a curse, and a female scream.  He recognised that scream.  He’d heard that scream before.  It was Maggie!   

Owen burst into a sprint.  “Maggie!” he yelled at the top of his voice. 

No wonder StripeSide didn’t know what she’d been hearing!  Bad things happened to young women in dark street corners at night!  Evil humans preyed on other humans – evil that raptors were incapable of understanding.  StripeSide hadn’t known what she heard because she didn’t know what humans were capable of doing to each other.

“Get off her!”   Owen closed on the two figures against the wall at a run and crashed bodily into them.  The man was moving rhythmically, and Owen clamped his hand on his shoulder and heaved.  Owen was strong and he knew it.  Working summers on his grandfather’s ranch had given him shoulders like hams and fingers like steel.  He used all his strength, and the man was thrown away from Maggie and toppled over backwards to the ground. 

Owen followed him.  “You son of a bitch!” he roared again. 

“Fuck you!” the man roared, in English.  Damien Scott rolled back up to his feet like an acrobat.  “What is wrong with you!” 

“Owen!” Maggie screamed. 

Owen leaped forward and threw out a punch as Scott lunged forward to meet him. 

Owen _knew_ he could throw a punch.  He’d learned to box in the Navy; he’d been good, too.  He had a killer jab-hook combination that had won three fights, and he was tough enough to eat punishment from faster fighters until he could grind them down with his strength.  He sent out his one-two – but they connected with nothing. 

He didn’t even see what Scott did, but it sure wasn’t a legal boxing move.  His arm was yanked and he felt himself being dragged up.  The planet seemed to flip itself upside down, and then he smashed into the ground on his back.

Owen arched his back, frantically sucking a breath into his lungs. 

Maggie screamed, and a male voice shouted, “Scott!”  and a velociraptor shrieked in rage close by.     

Owen opened his eyes.  He could feel something pattering down on his body, light as rainfall.  He found himself looking up at StripeSide’s pale belly.

She was standing protectively over him.  The violence of her arrival had snapped her flower chain, and the flowers had rained down over Owen like confetti.  Her powerful tail was snapping back and forth right over his head.   He could see her feet just in front of him, braced apart, her killing claws retracted right up.

He rolled over, managing another wheezing breath, and pushed himself up onto his elbows.  He was looking up from under StripeSide’s thick hooking talons.   

Michael Stonebridge was facing her, braced in an Isosceles stance behind a pistol.  His jaw was clenched like granite, immovable, inhuman.  His eyes were cold watchful ice chips, sunk to slits.  He looked angry enough to fight a velociraptor with a handgun.  "Don't you fucking dare," he hissed.  

StripeSide hissed back.  The pistol was aimed at her snout, inches away.  Her teeth were bared at him.  Her talons were curling, flexing in rage, ready to eat his bullets and tear Stonebridge apart.  She knew what the pistol was, what it could do, and she didn’t care. 

For a moment the tableau held. 

“Shit,” Owen blurted. 

“Michael, put the gun down!”  Maggie cried out.  

 “Not until she backs off,” Michael Stonebridge ground out between his teeth.  “She attacked Scott.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy, _easy!”_   Owen rolled out from under StripeSide’s rigid legs.  He scrambled to his feet, careful not to bump her, and stepped forward between them.  He stretched out both arms, careful to keep his palms flat.  It was the old Stand Down sign.  “Easy, there.  We’re not going there today.  Blue.  _Blue_ -ue.  Stand down.” 

She heard him.  Her eyes narrowed, but they did not shift from Stonebridge.  She was going to attack.  She had every right, under raptor law, and her pack would help.  There was a raptor on either side of her now.  SnailEater took a step forward, hissing, his long talons curling.  MoonRain appeared behind Scott – moving silently into attack position behind him.  They were surrounding their enemy, just as they’d surrounded Owen and Claire, that night outside the Innovation Centre.

Owen turned his head to the other direction.  “Michael.  Put the gun down,” Owen said to Stonebridge.  He couldn’t put himself between the pistol's muzzle and StripeSide – there wasn’t enough room.  "The gun.  Put it down."  

“Fuck that,” Stonebridge gritted through his teeth.  His eyes were fixed on StripeSide, unblinking.

StripeSide hissed. 

“Blue- _ue,”_ Owen insisted.  He signed,  <All is well!  Stand down.> 

<SmokeyOne struck you!>  she signed, without looking away from Stonebridge.  <This is death!>  

StripeSide would rip Stonebridge and Scott apart if she felt Owen was threatened, the way she had already ripped apart La Leona’s gangsters.  Owen held their lives in his grasp – which meant he could _not_ rage against Scott the way he still wanted to.  He could _destroy_ them both at a gesture – which meant he had a responsibility _not_ to.   She’d ripped up Henry Wu, and Owen had let her, and he could still feel that death on his conscience.  He could kill them so easily; he could not.  

<I am unharmed.  Let me speak to them!>  He turned his head, assuming her assent and giving her no room to argue back, and looked at Stonebridge. 

 “We’re _not_ going to have a problem here,” he said.  “Put the gun down.” 

“If I do that she’ll jump us,” Stonebridge gritted, without relaxing his death-glare at StripeSide. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Owen said.  “Put the gun down.  The gun.  Put it down.  Now.”   

“Do it,  Mikey,” Scott said.  He was still on the ground, on his elbows.  He made no move to get up – wise, because MoonRain was still behind him.  She was keeping still and silent; the ambush already in place to support StripeSide's frontal attack.  

Stonebridge glared at StripeSide – and then in one smooth movement the gun's muzzle was pointing to the stars.   He stepped backwards away from StripeSide, pistol held high.    

 _“Blue-_ ue?” Owen said.  He turned his head to her, his eyebrows raised, and waved his hand in a cycling movement, the sign for, <And now you?>

She hissed.  <You struck my bond-mate,> she signed directly to them.  She narrowed her eyes.  <If you are our spies, I will destroy you, and be glad to do it.> 

And then, to Owen’s relief, she relaxed, raising herself out of her attack stance.  Her talons, which had been reaching at the air like thick black scimitars, returned to their resting place in front of her breastbone, palms turned to the ground.  She took a stride back, away from Stonebridge, her tail snaking from side to side.  <There.  As you wish.> 

<Thank you,> Owen signed.  “There we are.  All polite.  Put the gun away.”

Stonebridge holstered the pistol at the back of his trousers.   “All polite,” he agreed. 

Scott took the détente as permission to get up off the ground.  

“Maggie, are you okay?”  Owen asked. 

“Of course I’m okay!”  she said.  “Or I _was,_ before you burst in here!” 

“What was he doing to you?”  Owen pointed at Scott. 

“He wasn’t doing anything to me,” she said.  “We were having sex!” 

“You were having … wait, _what?”  
_

“ _Sex,_ idiot!  We were having sex!” 

“You just met him yesterday!”  Owen said, his jealousy exploding inside him.   

“I've met him before," Maggie said.  "He’s a soldier."  

“No, he’s not.  He’s a spy!  Listen to me, Maggie.  I got a warning from Jurassic World yesterday.  InGen has sent a spy here to scope this place out, look for our weaknesses.  That’s why these guys are here.  They’re spies.” 

“We’re _what?”_ Scott asked. 

“Don’t play the innocent!” Owen snapped.  “We’ve had our eyes on you since you got here.  There’s going to be another plane tomorrow, and you’re going to be on it.  We know InGen works with mercenaries, and you’ve got merc written all over you.”

“They’re not working for InGen!” Maggie said, coming forward.  Her face was white and coated with sweat.  She had seen what StripeSide was capable of when she thought Owen was threatened.  "Owen, they're not working for InGen!  InGen didn't send them!"

“How do you know?” Owen asked. 

“Because I _asked_ them to come here!” 

Owen stared at her.  “You?” 

 _“Me,_ not InGen!  I know them!” Maggie said.  “I’ve known Damien for _years!_ A _lot_ longer than I’ve known you!  He’s been my confidential informant more times than I can count!  I’d trust them with my life. 

“You could have _told_ me you were calling up your old boy-friend!” Owen snapped. 

His heart felt cold and ugly inside him, as if something inside himself had curdled.  He’d thought _he_ was her boyfriend.  He’d thought he _had_ something with Maggie.  Had she and Scott laughed together about his earnest flirting with her? 

A torrent of curses bubbled up inside him, but he gritted his teeth on them before curses could tip over into tears.  There was no place for that here.  This was not the time for that. 

“It’s not like that,” Maggie said.  “I called Damien and Michael because they’re soldiers.  They’re good, Owen.  I knew we’d need help with big guns, so I called them.”

“And they just dropped everything and came?” Owen said, suspiciously.  “Just like that?” 

“Yes,” Stonebridge said, coldly.  “Just like that.” 

“Look, buddy,” Scott said.  He raised both hands, and his blue eyes were wide and gazed at Owen openly.  “Totally on the level.  We’re not here for InGen.  We’re not even here for Maggie.  We came here for La Leona."

"La Leona?"

We’ve got unfinished business with the Gomez Cartel," Scott said.  "See, we accidentally gave Emilia Gomez her promotion by killing both of her big brothers.  We made her, and now we’re going to unmake her.” 

“Wait.  Hang on.  I heard British military intelligence killed Miguel Gomez!” Maggie said.  

“Yeah," Scott said.  "That was us.  Me and Mikey.  Gomez got in the way of the mission.”  

“ _You’re_ British military intelligence?” Owen asked Scott. 

“We were, yeah,” Scott said.  “But it didn't last.  Whitehall realized I’m not British, and Mikey isn’t intelligent.” 

“Maggie told Scott that there were dinosaurs here, but we didn’t come here for the dinosaurs,” Stonebridge said.  “We took the job, because we guessed it would get us close enough to La Leona to take her down.” 

“Now, you tell me?” Maggie asked. 

“Yeah," Scott said.  "We came here to take down Emila Gomez.  We didn’t know bugger-all about dinosaurs until we got here.  Until Mikey saw _her,_ and started to go all tourist on me.”  He gestured toward StripeSide.

StripeSide had been twisting her long lean head back and forth through the whole conversation.  Now she bobbed her jaw up and down and made a warbling snarl.  She raised her talons.  <What do they say?>

Owen turned to her, feeling defeated.  <SmokeyOne is not our observer,> he signed.  <LoudVoice summoned him here.  She vouches for him.  He is the enemy of the Lioness, which means he is an ally.> 

<And the other one?> 

<BridgeOfStone is here for SmokeyOne,> Owen explained.  <SmokeyOne vouches for BridgeOfStone, as LoudVoice vouches for SmokeyOne.> 

<They are not our observers,> she signed. 

<No, they are not.>

<I suppose this means I cannot kill them?>

<No, that would be a bad idea.> 

<I think I should kill him.>  She swung her head and stared silently at Scott.  Her killing-claws retracted, and tapped the ground quietly.  <He hurt you.>  

A silently staring raptor was a raptor preparing to strike…  “Blue!” he said aloud.  <Hurt them not!  They are not enemies.> 

She hissed.  <As you wish.> 

“What’s she saying?” Scott asked. 

“I told her I believe you,” Owen lied.  “I told her about Emilia Gomez.  She accepts that you’re not a spy.  The enemy of my enemy is my friend – that’s a concept the raptors understand.”

“Maybe you have got a spy,” Stonebridge said. “But it’s not us.” 

“Listen, we’re on the same side,” Scott said.  “Maggie said Emilia Gomez wants to take back control of this place?”

“She’s not a big fan of the raptors,” Owen said.  

“Then I reckon we’re on the same side.  The enemy of my enemy is my friend.  La Leona is our enemy, and we can fight her together if we work together.” 

“Owen,” Maggie said.  “We need them.  I swear – we can trust them.  These are the guys who stopped Leo Kamali from letting smallpox loose in Germany.  These are the guys who stopped terrorists from nuking Geneva.  They’ve _already_ saved the world a couple of times.  They know what they’re doing.  They can show us how to stand against Gomez.” 

“Truce?” Stonebridge asked. 

Owen drew in a deep breath.  “All that matters to me are the raptors,” he said to Scott.  “I would lay down my life to keep them safe.  Nothing else matters.  _Nothing.”_

“Not even me?” Scott said. 

“No, _you’re_ still an asshole.”   

“Yeah, I get told that a lot,” Scott said.  “For the raptors?” 

“For the raptors,” Owen said.  He held out his hand.

Scott took his hand, and they shook on the truce.  Owen made sure his palm was on top of the handshake.  It might be a truce, but he wasn’t going to show soft in front of Scott.  Scott’s hand was hard, and he gripped like steel, but Owen gave as good as he got. 

"If we work together, we're going to make a _world_ of hurt for Emilia Gomez," Scott promised.  

“We’ll have to talk about this tomorrow,” Owen said. 

“Yeah,” Scott said.  

“Owen,” Maggie started toward him. 

“Don’t,” Owen said.  “Nothing matters to me but the raptors.” 

He turned away and walked into the darkness.  

He could still feel the ache of betrayal inside him – and if he was honest, too, a lot of raw ugly jealousy.  Maggie was tough, sexy and smart; he’d wanted her himself.  He remembered the way her long dark hair framed her face, and the mental image made him cringe.  

Behind him, StripeSide’s hard feet were still tapping the ground.  He heard her make the strange shuddering snarl that was a raptor’s best approximation of human speech.  She blew out her breath between her teeth and shivered her lower jaw at the same time, as if that was what humans were doing when they spoke. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, and kept walking.  <I do not wish to talk,> he signed, knowing she could read him in the darkness.

Her footsteps jogged away and receded, and he was alone. 

He realized that his arm was stinging painfully.  StripeSide had caught him with one claw accidentally, but her claws and her hide were so rough that just the scratch had been enough to hurt him.  It didn't feel as if it was bleeding - or if it had, it had already clotted over.  He and Barry had had far worse scratches and scrapes, when they'd been raising the four raptors at Isla Nublar.  Barry had got used to sloshing antiseptic over Owen, and sticking him back together with BandAids, when neither of them had wanted to confess to the Park's H&S service that the raptors had hurt one of their handlers _again._  

Owen missed Barry.  He missed Lowery.  He wanted to drink with Barry, and complain about the perfidy of women.  He wanted Lowery’s sardonic support to complain about the ass-holery of soldiers.  He felt terribly alone. 

He’d thought he had something with Maggie.  They’d gone on a couple of dates – admittedly, only to the Cantina, but that counted, didn’t it?  Obviously Maggie didn’t think so.  He’d thought they had something between them.  Obviously, she didn’t think so.  He’d thought the dates had gone well, but obviously she didn’t think so.  She smiled, and laughed, and drank tequila, and danced with him, but _obviously_ that was not enough.  _“Obviously,”_ he muttered, sourly. 

The two soldiers weren’t their spies, but the alternative wasn’t a shit-load better!  They weren’t here for InGen – Maggie called them because she was banging Scott!  Owen should have been glad they weren’t spies, but he just felt sour.  Owen might have new allies, but he was damned if he would call them friends. 

If the two soldiers were not the spies, then who was?  The real spy was still out there.  Owen didn’t even know if the spy was in town at all, he realized.  Claire had just said a spy had been sent, but not where.  The spy could be _anywhere_ on the river.  He could be anywhere in town.  They might even still be in Florentia, the capital of Caqueta Department, spying from a distance through a local blabbermouth. 

He walked around the corner of the supermarket, and StripeSide was waiting for him.  She was standing in the pool of electric light under the front door, watching him, with the motionless patience of a carnivore.  

He paused and looked at her, and she looked at him.  Her eyes were fixed, points of light flickering in them from the light over her head.  She stood and watched him with the alien stillness of a reptile, patient as a crocodile on a river bank.  

She _was_ smarter than he was.  She knew where he was going; she knew how long it would take him to cool down enough to talk; she knew where to find enough light to sign.  She had gone where she knew he would go, and now she was waiting for him.  Velociraptors _understood_ lying in wait, better than any human sniper ever would.  _< You do not hunt by chasing,>_ WingWatch had told him once.  _< You hunt by predicting.> _

He could walk away, and sulk some more, but he’d had enough.  He changed course and walked over to her.  She extended her snout to him, and he cupped his hands under her chin, and leaned there for a long moment. 

Women came, and women went, and StripeSide would stay, he told himself.  This was real.  This was forever.  He was hers, and she was his.  Nothing else mattered, not even jealousy. 

He backed away from her only after his neck got tired of bending low over her muzzle.

Only then did she move.  She stepped back slightly to sign. 

<You are in pain,> she signed to him. 

<I am not in pain.> 

<You are jealous,> she signed to him.  <That is pain.>  Jealousy was an emotion the raptors understood.  So much of their society was founded on jealousy and possessiveness.  The dyad was sacred; impinging on someone’s dyad was one of the few justifiable causes for a physical fight. 

<I am jealous,> he admitted.

<I should kill that human,> she signed. 

<No, you should not.  I do not want that.>

<You are in pain.  I think I should kill him.> 

<I am not in such pain that I would see them hurt for it.  I was foolish.  I thought I could be her mate.  I did not know that she had another mate already.  And tonight I learned the truth, and now my heart hurts me.> He realized that he was signing more slowly than usual. 

<Egg-jealousy,> she signed.  She stared at him.  <I tried to prevent you from the knowledge of what I saw.> 

<I know that you did.> 

<I wanted not to hurt you,> she signed.  <I would hurt you not, and never!  I know you courted LoudVoice, and there, I saw that she was mating with someone else.>

<You knew I courted her.  RoundAlpha knew I courted her.  SmallVoice knew it.  SnailEater knew it.  Even OneEaredHealer knew it!  The only person who knew it not was LoudVoice herself!>  He let out a bitter laugh. 

<Why do you laugh?  This is not good!>

<This is not a good laugh.  This is a sad and ugly laugh.> 

<There is not incongruety?>

<Yes, there is, but it is all bad.>

<I do not understand this laugh,> she signed. 

<Never mind the laugh,> he said.  <It is a laugh of self-pity, and I need it not.  I feel better for having you with me.  This will pass.> 

<Apologies are due,> she signed. 

<Apologies are not due,>   he signed.  <You have not hurt me.  Not you.> 

<But I could accidentally hurt you, and that I wish never to do.>

<You have not hurt me,> he said.  <You would never hurt me.  I feel better already for having you here.   This pain will pass,> he said, and realized it was true.  <Jealousy will fade.  I thought she might be my mate.  She is not.  She will never be.  This pain will pass, I promise it.> 

<I shall find you a better mate,> she declared.  <Yes, I will find you a big, handsome mate, and she will have sharp claws, and talons, and much hair all over, and she will be a much, much finer mate for you than LoudVoice!>

If he let her match-make for him, he would end up with a girlfriend who looked like Abraham Lincoln after a bad weekend.  He couldn’t help himself; he smiled at that thought. 

She chuff-chuffed at him.  <There, you smile!  This idea pleases you!  Then this I will do.> 

<SmokeyOne and BridgeOfStone are not our observers,> he signed. 

<They are not.>

<They are not, because LoudVoice called them here,> he explained. 

<I must clarify: I was agreeing with you,> she said.  <They are not.  I had FireMountain this day following them wherever they went.  They went exploring, carrying weapons concealed about them.>

<This warns of ill intent,> he said. 

<But they explored up the river, as if they were not interested in this town at all.  They paid no attention to us, or to this place, but made serious attempts to go into the Lioness’s land.  And they would have stepped on a ground-bomb, but FireMountain prevented it.  And RoundAlpha’s child SmallVoice spoke to them, through WoodAsh.  And SmokeyOne thanked FireMountain.  And they spent all afternoon talking to SmallVoice.>

Raptor Sign did not have the soup of grammatical tenses and verb moods that the raptors’ own language seemed to have.  It  made telling a story into something of a shopping list.  

<They came here for LoudVoice,> Owen said. 

<SmokeyOne did,> she said.  <But BridgeOfStone came here for SmokeyOne.  WoodAsh says she believes they are bond-mates.>

<They are both human,> Owen protested.  <They cannot be bond-mates.>

StripeSide lowered her head.  <The one is here for love of the other,> she said, bobbing her nose up and down in the human way.  <Bond-mates, they are.  Yes, this is so.  We know that the Lioness has enemies of her own.  She has preyed on the humans of this land for too long.  Now they circle to destroy her.  The enemy of my enemy may be my friend.>

<But if they are not our observers,> Owen signed,  <who is?  TalksToNumbers?  I dislike him.  I mistrust him.>

<Dislike is not a necessity for mistrust.>

<No, but it surely does help.> 

She timbered deeply in her throat, a sound they made when they were thinking deeply, or investigating something new.  She made a sign which meant,  <I have some ideas but I do not yet know which is true.>

Raptor Sign had a single precise word for that whole sentence.  It was clearly a word adapted from their own language.  They were a predatory species: their hunting behaviour was founded on what different pack members knew and didn’t know.  Velociraptors were born epistemologists. 

<The Clouds still observe closely,> she signed.  <Copper observes them at this current time.  Be patient.  My advice is to wait.>

<I will take your advice,>  he said.  <I should sleep.  It is late.>

<It is early,> she said.  <But you have had much alcohol this night.  You will feel bad later.  You should sleep now.> 

<This is true,> he agreed. 

<You will sleep?>

<I will sleep.> 

<I will see you with the rising of the sun.>  She leaned in and breathed deeply of his breath.  Her eyes slid half-closed, and her breath was warm against his face.  <Sleep well, my bond-mate.  And fret not about the observer.  I will hunt the observer, and I will succeed.>

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming to post a new chapter every week, usually on a Friday.


	7. ... and treachery

 

Owen woke with a gulp of shock from a dream of falling into fire, clutching at the side of his hammock.  His eyes flew open but saw nothing but the dark.

The bump came again, and his fingers gripped the hammock.  He was being bumped insistently by something underneath his hammock.    

There was deep breathing in the darkness.  “Blue,” he whispered.

There was an answering snarl.  It was her.  She was bumping the underside of his hammock to wake him without grabbing at him with her talons. 

She could see him, even if he could not see her.  He raised his hands to ask her a question, but he felt hard forehands close around them.  Her talons were rough and warm and firm, locking around his wrists tightly.  She snarled again, and released his left hand, but held onto his right.  She pressed her other forehand against his palm, and he felt her talons moving in the sign for <Come.> 

“Okay,” he said.  “Okay, okay, okay!  Keep your scales on, don’t drag me!”  He rolled himself out of his hammock and felt for his flashlight.  He had to clutch at it as it was picked up and pushed into his hands.  The days after the Indominus escape,  when the alpha raptor had physically dragged him around the wreckage of Jurassic World, were not over after all.  She still resorted to grabbing him any time it was too dark to just tell him what she wanted. 

“Okay,” he said again, and turned the flashlight on. 

The light was stabbing-bright, a torpedo inside the dark, narrow tent.  It highlighted her rough hide in sharp relief, and stroked accidentally into her face.  He saw her vertical pupil snap into a tight slit, and she flinched back. 

<Apologies,> he signed. 

<It is nothing,> she signed, and he played the flashlight over her talons.  <Come!  Find feet and follow!> 

He sat down on his camp stool, and found his boots, banging them on the ground to dislodge any nocturnal squatters inside them.  He pulled them on and drew up his laces.   She was already waiting outside when he got there. 

He put the long steel barrel of the flashlight under his armpit, aimed at her, so that he could sign. 

<What time is it?>

<It is now two hours and twenty-three minutes,> she replied, turning her long body into the circuit of grey light from the torch so that he could see her forehands. 

He didn’t doubt her.  There were some things velociraptors just knew, the way humans instinctively knew how to pick up a rock and throw it, and keeping time was one of them.  <It is the middle of my sleeping time,> he complained. 

<It is the middle of all humans’ sleeping time,> she signed.  <This is when you sleep the deepest, when your bloodheat is lowest, when you are at your most stupid.>

He didn’t like that.  He glared at her, and she jerked her head up and blew her nostrils out in that strange mannerism she had. 

<Not you, precious one!  You, I adore!  But all of you, as a species.  This is why we must hunt now.  Will you hunt with me?> 

<What do you hunt?>

<Our observer.>

<You know who it is?>

<I believe I do.  Come!  Follow!  Hunt with me!> 

Hunting was more social bonding behaviour.  It wasn’t something they usually shared with humans, except in those cases where a human agreed to let themselves be chased  for the sake of practice.  Humans just didn’t know how to hunt properly; didn’t communicate clearly enough; couldn’t work through strategies fast enough. 

<Yes, I will hunt with you.  Who do we hunt?>

She paused, still framed in the circuit of the torch.  < _Trust_ you me?>  she asked. 

<Completely,> he signed, <And without fathom.>

<This you will not like,> she signed. <I believe that our observer is TalksToBones.> 

He shook his head.  <Untrue!>

<Regret is mine,> she said, her head and tail low.  <I know, you admire him.  But he is our observer.  He must be.  There is no other answer.> 

<Possible, not!>

<You do not believe me?  Then, hunt with me.  If he is the observer, we will know soon.  Follow.> 

She whirled, her killing-claws raised, and jogged off into the dark.  His torchlight lost her in seconds, and the sound of her claws receded, but he knew where she was going, and he followed at his own speed. 

It might have been late at night, but this was the dinosaurs’ most active time.  The streets were busy; raptors chasing each other up and down, with the complete opposite of the sleepy indolence they’d showed that afternoon. 

The lights of the cantina were still burning.  The little co-op/supermarket, which sold everything you could possible need in a small town, from gas-bottle refills to postage stamps was still open.  Two raptors had been trying to paint a wall, and were pausing to paint each other with screams of glee.  In the town square, a lesson in what looked a hell of a lot like Geometry was in progress, taught by SnailEater to a group of fascinated yearlings.  It couldn’t really be Geometry, could it? 

Owen paused to stare, until an impatient cough-bark called his attention back to StripeSide. 

When he reached the front veranda of Hotel Dinosaurios, the building was dark.  There was no sign of Flavio’s receptionist.  Something moved against the darkness of the building’s stilts, and he turned the torch that way.  StripeSide and Nyiragongo  were waiting outside for him. 

Nyiragongo was the smallest of the hatchlings Owen, Barry and Lowery had stolen from the InGen facility when they’d rescued StripeSide and WingWatch.  Barry had insisted on naming all the hatchlings – the girls after African tribes, and the boys after great African landforms.  Of the eight, only Nyiragongo had liked the meaning of his name well enough to keep it. 

<They sleep,> Nyiragongo signed as the flashlight found him. 

StripeSide immediately snapped her teeth at Nyiragongo’s throat for daring to speak to her dyad first.  <They sleep,> she signed to Owen, as if he hadn’t been able to see Nyiragongo at all. 

<What will you do?> Owen asked. 

<I am very angry,> she said, looking at him closely, and swaying her weight from one leg to the other, her tail waving.  <And I will wake him and tell him so.>

<Hurt him, not!> Owen signed frantically. 

<He may be our observer,> she said.  <And this way we can find out.>

<You are wrong!  TalksToBones is an admirer of dinosaurs!  He cannot be our observer!  Hurt him, not!>  Owen took a step backwards, away from her, shaking his head.  <I will not help you, if you hurt him!  

<I do not intend to hurt him.  But he will not know that!  You will tell him that I am very, very angry.  We know all, and I am angry, and he will tell us the truth if he is to live.  Thus we will discover truth this night!  Translate carefully!>

<You will frighten truth from him?>

<Yes.>

<To that, do you swear?> 

<To that I swear.  Frighten only!  Screaming, and leaping, and claws - but only to frighten!  Come!  Follow!  Hunt with me!> 

She wasted no more time.  She bounced up the steps onto the veranda, and Owen followed, with the flashlight.  She dashed down the corridor, her tail waving in the receding light of the torch, and reached the door.  Flavio still had not had a chance to put locks on the doors.  She wrapped her talons around the handle, and turned it as Owen reached her.  She burst into the room, and screamed at the top of her lungs. 

Alan Grant exploded out of his bedclothes.  He was being attacked!  He woke with a scream and fell completely out of the bed and disappeared onto the floor. 

StripeSide halted in the centre of the room and spread her talons.  Owen’s flashlight lit her up from behind like a living nightmare.  Her body cast a huge shadow around the narrow room.  She screamed again, her talons flexing, her teeth bared. 

“Doctor Grant!” Owen shouted.  He carried the torch around the corner of the bed and flashed it down. 

Grant was on the floor, trapped in his own blankets, flailing.  A velociraptor had appeared above his bed, screaming!  He was trying to get away, too dazed to realize that if she wanted to attack him he would be dead already.  “Get her off me!” 

“Get up!”  Owen shouted.  “She's very angry!  I don’t know if I can hold her off!  I’ve tried to reason with her but she’s not listening to me!” 

StripeSide screamed again, all teeth and threat. 

Grant scrambled backwards on the floor away from her.  “Christ, keep her away from me!” 

StripeSide leaped up onto the end of the bed. Her talons dug into the bedding, as she discovered too late that a mattress was a very wobbly stage.  She spread her talons and lowered her breastbone, as if she was about to spring.   

He spared her a glance, and she signed, <Good!  I can see that you are lying but he cannot!> 

Grant flung himself backwards into the corner away from her.  His back was against the wall.  He was shaking, clutching his chest, and StripeSide upped the ante by screaming at the top of her lungs again. 

“Keep her away from me!” 

“I can’t control her!  She’ll rip me apart if I get in her way!  She’s too angry!  She knows what’s going on and she’s pissed!  She says you’re the spy!”

“What?” 

“She thinks you’ve been reporting back to InGen!”

“What?  That’s impossible!” Grant shouted. 

<Keep making noise!>  StripeSide signed.  <Keep him climbing around the furniture!  Humans hate that!>  She jumped down into the alley between the bed and the wall and screamed again, just feet from Grant’s chest.  

“Keep her away from me!”  Grant climbed over the head of the bed, scrambling over the mattress in his haste to get away. 

“She knows you’re the spy, Grant!  You’re screwed!  She knows about the calls you’ve been making to InGen!  She wants to know what InGen's plans are!” 

“But how the hell did she find out?”  Grant backed away.  StripeSide turned to follow him.  “How does she know?  How the _hell_ did she find out?” 

Owen’s stomach gave an ugly lurch. 

“She didn’t know,” he said. 

He stepped back, and dropped the flashlight onto the end of the bed.  "She didn't know until you told her."  

He was suddenly just too tired to be angry any more.  He was too tired, too disappointed, too filled with betrayal to be _angry_ about it any more.  He felt exhausted; sick at heart.  He wanted to go back into the rainforest, back into the lair, back to three weeks ago when the worst thing he had to worry about was teaching EatsPlants not to chew his shoes. 

“What?”  Grant said, thrown off balance by the sudden change in Owen’s voice. 

“She _didn’t know,”_ Owen said.  “You just told her yourself.  She laid a trap, and you fell right into it.”  He turned away from Grant.   <He admits it.>

<As I knew he would.  Regret is mine.>  StripeSide hissed.  She sat down on the end of the bed, her long hind legs doubling up under her.  She let out a deep equine sigh. 

Grant was clutching the wall for support.  

“You’re the spy,” Owen said, disgusted.  _“You._   The great Alan Grant.  I showed you around town.  I showed you where I live!  I almost took you to see the nest!  I trusted you!  _She_ trusted you!” Owen pointed to StripeSide, still lying silently on the bed, and watching with her huge amber eyes.  She was leaving the conversation to her dyad this time, letting him do the talking for both of them. 

There was a sound at the door.  Owen hadn’t bothered to close it behind him.  The light in the room changed.  It was Ian Malcolm, carrying an oil lamp in one hand. 

“What’s going on?” Malcolm said, stopping dead.  His pyjamas were black, Owen saw, and of course they had to be silk.  Malcolm’s eyes took in the tableau:  Owen in the middle of the room, StripeSide lying doggo on Grant’s bed, and his old friend Alan Grant slumped against the wall, his knees buckling and threatened to dump him on his ass.  “Alan?” 

“He’s the spy,” Owen said. 

“Spy?” 

Owen cast Grant a look, but the man didn’t speak. 

“InGen sent us a spy,” Owen explained.  “And we’ve just found out who it is.  Alan’s  been spying on us, feeding information to InGen.  InGen wants to wipe out the raptors – exterminate them once and for all – and Alan has been helping them.” 

Malcolm turned to Grant, and recoiled.  “You … what?  You’ve been… _what?_   Jesus fucking _Christ!”_   He’d abandoned that juvenile ‘Dionysus’ nonsense, Owen noticed, in favour of some real heartfelt cussing. 

“So help me God,” Grant said, looking up at Owen.  “I didn’t know.  InGen asked me to come here and assess this place so that the raptors could be… controlled.  I swear, I thought I was doing the right thing…” 

“I knew it!” Malcolm said.  “You always _said_ no power in heaven or on earth would get you to go anywhere near a velociraptor, ever again!  I wondered why you’d changed your mind! So - how much is InGen paying you?" 

"Paying him?" Owen echoed. 

Grant winced.  “Enough money to pay for three seasons of digs at SnakeWater.  I want to open a fossil park at Snakewater – a museum – an education centre…”

“It's always money, with you,” Malcolm said.  “Hammond had to _bribe_ you to Jurassic Park in the first place!  In the personal phase space of Alan Grant, the Y-axis is always the mighty dollar!”   He folded his arms across his chest, disgusted.

 “You think I’d come all this way just because _you_ wanted to be proven right?”  Grant said.  “I thought I was doing the right thing!  I thought they would be the same as the raptors at Jurassic Park.” 

“You still don’t understand!” Malcolm said.  “The raptors here _are_ the same as the raptors at Jurassic Park!  _They’re exactly the same!_ They're intelligent, and plan, and think, and reason - because _that's what they all did.”_

"I didn't know," Grant said, miserably.  "I didn't know until Owen here explained.  Until I'd seen for myself."

“So, what?” Owen said to Grant.  “You listened to everything I said, and you saw everything I showed you - and all the time you were sitting back thinking, yeah, that’s cool, we’ll be wiping you all out, four o’clock next Tuesday?” 

“No!” Grant said.  “Not any more.  I’ve seen enough here to change my mind.  Owen!  Listen to me – _I have changed sides.”_   He looked at Owen, and Owen would have thought his face was sincere if he hadn’t believed Grant had been sincere all along. 

"Excuse me for not believing you," Malcolm said. 

“It's true," Grant said.  ""They told me it was a clean-up - that there were only ten raptors here - that they escaped from a research facility here in the Amazon. None of that is true.  I was lied to.  I already called InGen, and told them I quit – _and_ I called the other guy and told him so.  What you’ve got here is not what the other guy said it was."

“What other guy?” Owen asked, sharply. 

“InGen has someone else here,” Grant said. 

“In town?” 

“No,” Grant said. “I don’t know where he is.  I report to him; he reports to InGen.” 

“What are they planning to do?” 

“I don’t know,” Grant said.  “He just wants information.  How many raptors there are, where they sleep, when they’re awake, where the nest is.  I know he’s planning something but he won’t say what.”

“How did you contact him?” 

“Satellite phone.”

“Let’s have it!” Owen ordered, holding his hand out. 

“It’s in the wardrobe,” Grant said.  “I’ll get it if she’ll let me.  Please tell her that’s what I’m going to do?” 

<He fetches his communication device,> Owen said. 

Grant edged his way around StripeSide, his hands held pacifically at his sides.  “Easy, there, I’m just going to get the phone…” 

StripeSide stood up, and got down off the end of the bed in a single fluid stride.  <BridgeOfStone listens to us,> she said, and swung her head to stare at the wall.  <I see his bloodheat.  He is leaning against the wall.> 

Owen swung his head.  She was staring at the wall with the adjoining room.

“Hey, Michael Stonebridge!” Owen shouted at the wall.  “Stop playing hide and seek!  She can see you!” 

There was silence from the other side of the wall.

  “What?” Malcolm asked. 

“Raptors can see thermal radiation.  She says he’s leaning on the wall, listening in.” 

Alan Grant was coming back to Owen.  He’d opened the wardrobe and rummaged inside his suitcase.  “Here,” he said, holding out a phone to Owen.  Its aerial was as thick as a permanent marker. 

Owen took it, and turned it around to see the screen.  “Your contact is the last call?” 

“Yes.” 

“Let’s give him a ring and see who picks up.” 

“The signal here is bad," Grant said.  "You might not get through.” 

Owen just grunted.  StripeSide could end the interference in a second by shouting ‘shut up’ through the window.  He flicked through to the call menu on the phone, and found the most recent number.  He dialled, and held the phone to his ear.

It rang, and rang.  He expected to hear a pre-recorded caller-unobtainable message, when there was a bubble of static, and he knew the connection was live.  “Hello?  Dr Grant?  I hope you’ve changed your mind.” 

He recognised the voice and the accent at the same time – ‘ _Grahnt.’_   “Bindi Thornton,” he said coldly.  “I should have guessed.” 

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line.  “Owen fuckin’ Grady,” Thornton said.  _Gridy…  
_

“I should have guessed,” Owen said.  “Whatever you’re planning, pal, forget about it.  We’re onto you.” 

“Fuck that,” Thornton said.  “You can’t save these animals, Grady.  We’re coming for you, and _you’re_ going to jail where you bel–!” 

Owen cut the connection.  He wasn’t interested in listening to Thornton rant.  It was enough to know the Australian was here, just a few miles away, and plotting to harm the raptors. 

“You know him?” Grant said. 

“We’ve had a run-in before,” Owen said.  “He used to work at Jurassic World, when I was still trying to train Bl – StripeSide, and her sisters.  He knows the raptors.” He dropped the phone onto the end of the bed.  <It is YellowHair from the Island of Clouds,> he signed to StripeSide. 

She narrowed her eyes, and rippled her lips above her teeth in a threatening snarl.   <Now him, I remember well.  It was YellowHair who fired the sleeping-dart that took me and my sister away from the Island of Clouds.  If he comes here, I will finish the job I started in the cage.> 

“For this guy,” Owen said, “it’s personal.  He knows what raptors are like, and he _hates_ them.” 

“I know what raptors are like,” Grant said, “but I changed my mind.  Maybe this guy…?”

“Not this guy,” Owen said, shaking his head.  “StripeSide nearly took off his leg.  She grabbed him through a fence and ripped up his knee.  And … er … I killed his friend Bulgen, when we were stealing back StripeSide and WingWatch.  He blames the raptors for that, even more than he blames me.  He won’t stop coming after us until the raptors are dead.” 

<I must away,> StripeSide said.  She stepped off the end of the bed.  <I must tell the news to the other Alphas, that an attack may be coming soon, and that we have enemies.>  She went out through the doorway, her tail curling to pass around the corner. 

Malcolm bent to the bed, and picked up the phone.   “I’m going to take this, Alan.  I’m going to call up an old friend.” 

“Who?”  Owen asked. 

“The CEO of InGen.  The sooner we break the news, the sooner we can keep InGen’s hands off the raptors.” 

“InGen is not your first problem,” a voice said.  “They’re still thousands of miles away.  You’ve got more immediate problems…” 

Owen turned.  Michael Stonebridge was standing in the doorway, in the shadows.  He must have been listening for a while, in the darkness just outside the doorway.  He wore nothing but track pants, and he was holding a glass tumbler in one hand.

“InGen owns the raptors,” Owen said to Stonebridge.  “InGen can legally wipe them out if they want to.” 

“It’s not InGen I’d be worried about, if I were you,” Stonebridge said.  “If Thornton is here – and it sounds like he is – then there is only one place he can be hiding.”

“Where?” Owen asked. 

“He’s upriver.  He’s working hand-in-glove with the Gomez cartel.  There's only one place he could hide that the raptors won’t have found him yet: the other side of the waterfall.”

“Jesus,” Owen said. 

“Would he do that?” Stonebridge asked. 

“He would,” Owen said.  “He hates the raptors.”

“Now we really _do_ have a reason to work together,” Stonebridge said.  “My enemy and your enemy are friends.” 

“We can’t do anything about him now,” Malcolm said.  “Even if he’s working with this – the Gomez cartel, is it? – there’s nothing we can do about him at three o’clock in the morning.” 

Stonebridge turned to Malcolm.  “You’d better get on the horn to your buddies,” he said.  “I don’t know who you’re going to call, but if they don’t get here soon, we’re going to be in one hell of a fire-fight.” 

“Are you good to stick with us?” Owen asked. 

“Mate, getting into other people’s fights is what me and Scott _do.”_

* * *

 

 

The moon was bright overhead, casting deep shadows, but under the trees it was dark.  Owen made his way out of the town, into the deep shadows where he lived.  There were lights here, enough to find his way into his own tent.  He felt around for his lantern on his table, and lit it.  The flame came up, casting a sticky orange glow around inside the woven screens. 

He bound open the screen door so that he could see out into the night.  He sat down on his folding chair, and stared gloomily out at the darkness.   

If Thornton could, he would wipe out the raptors.  He hated them with all his heart – for what they’d done to his leg, for what Owen had done to his friend Bulgen – and most of all, Owen thought, because they were reptiles, and he didn’t like them.  Owen would never forget the anger in his voice when he’d shouted at Owen.  _“They’re the most vicious animals ever created! They should all be destroyed!”_

Owen didn’t know how he could have hired Thornton for his velociraptor team without noticing how deeply the man hated animals.  Bindi Thornton had come to Isla Nublar along with the saltwater crocodile from Steve Irwin’s Australia Zoo.  Owen had hired him because of that connection to Irwin, unaware that Thornton secretly believed the exact opposite of Irwin’s philosophy.  Barry had warned him, but Owen had been blinded by his admiration for the great Steve Irwin.  He hadn’t seen the truth until it was too late.  

The same way he hadn’t seen the truth about the great Alan Grant until it was too late. 

InGen would destroy the raptors if they could, and they had every legal right to do it. They were extinct animals, and InGen had brought them back to life.  InGen owned them.  Dinosaurs had no rights, not even the minimal rights of other animals. 

And yet the raptors were intelligent!  They were smarter than apes, whales, or dolphins!  Not human, but fully as intelligent as humans!  Somehow, they had to find a way to convince the outside world that the raptors could  not be subject to the same laws as other animals.  Somehow, they had to convince the world that the raptors could not be treated like the great apes, or the dolphins. 

He could feel the weight of history bearing down on him.  An intelligent species, living precariously in the rainforest, balanced between oblivion and acceptance… The raptors could slip out of his fingers so easily.  Everything he’d worked for could be lost if he screwed up.  All the care and caution of Maria and TravelsOverWater over the last twenty years was in his hands now.  The secret that had been kept safe in the rainforest  now depended on him and StripeSide. 

He wasn’t ready for this.  He hadn’t asked for any of this.  His whole world had been upturned the day that Delta had picked up a piece of wood and tried to write on it.  He’d been running to catch up ever since.  He was responsible for an entire intelligent species, surrounded by enemies, charting their way through new waters. 

Well, he couldn’t back off now.  Whatever needed to be done, he would do it.  He didn't know how he was going to do it.  He only knew that he would do whatever it took. 

He was disturbed from his morose thoughts by a sound outside, and a familiar rasping breath. 

“Blue,” he called, glad to hear her. 

The light washed over her face as she came inside.  She was carrying a white plastic bundle gently in her teeth.  She turned her head, looking at him closely.  The lamplight cast her rough scaly hide into sharp relief.  Her amber eyes were deep pools, glittering.  She reached up one sharp talon to pull the screen loose.  It swung down behind her, over the end of her tail, and they were alone. 

<I brought you a gift,> she said, and dipped her head low.  She put down the white plastic bag, carefully, unhooking her teeth from it.

It rarely occurred to raptors that they had perfectly good hands to carry things.  It wasn’t instinctive for them to use their hands to explore the world, the way it was for humans.  Hands were for sign language, or scratching yourself, or opening doors – but for carrying things, raptors preferred their teeth. 

He sat up, curious. 

She put her talons into the plastic, opening it and nosing around in the packet with the end of her snout.  She came up again, with one of Flavio’s ghastly chocolate rats clenched gently in her teeth. 

<No, thank you,> Owen said, quickly. 

She blinked her eyes at him, the rat still gripped in her teeth. 

<No, this is not for you.>  Without relinquishing the rat, she pointed at the plastic bag with one long curled talon.  < _That_ is for you. >

He shifted over, stool and all, and pulled the bag across the ground to him.  Familiar blue wrappers gleamed inside the folds of the white plastic.  She’d brought him a couple of Jets; one of the most popular chocolate bars in Colombia. 

“Oh, thank God, not a rat,” Owen said to himself.  <Thank you,> he signed. 

<It is a gift,> she signed.  <It is for us to share.> 

He was touched by the gesture – even as he wondered where she’d got them at this time of night.  <This I will share with you,> he said, <And gladly.> 

She tossed up her head, flicking the rat around in her jaws so that its head faced downward.  She crunched on it a couple of times, and swallowed it down whole.  <That is good,> she signed.  <Good, good, good, good.>

The wrapper of the Jet was wet from the condensation of the frozen rat.  Owen tore open the wrapper and bit into it.  In the hot tropical night, the chocolate was soft.  <Good,> he signed, one-handed. 

He still missed American chocolate, but he was getting used to Colombian candies – not to mention drinking Coke-in-a-bag.  He held up the Jet and took another bite, and then put it down on his thigh. 

She doubled up her haunches under her, and sat down on the ground.  She rocked her body back, sitting up on her haunches.  It was not a natural pose for a raptor, but the ones who lived with humans had learned to sit that way for short periods so that they could speak Raptor Sign at the same time.  She sat up, balancing on her haunches like a bird, her talons in front of her breastbone. 

<How did you know?> he asked. 

<I suspected,> she said.  <I thought it was likely, but I did not know for certain, and I knew I could not accuse unless I was sure.  I can see that you admire him.  I can see that you want him to be someone to admire!>

<How did you know?> he asked again.  <How did you discover it?>

She raised her forehands, curling her talons, thinking carefully before she replied.  <He, of all of them, did not have a positive motive for coming here.>

<Clarify?> 

<Through you, and through FireMountain, I have spoken to all four of them.  All of them came here for positive motives.  SmokeyOne came here to fight the Lioness.  BridgeOfStone came here for love of SmokeyOne.  TalksToNumbers came here for love of proving himself correct at all times…> 

He couldn’t help it, he laughed at the idea. 

She cocked her head at him.  <That was laughter?>

<Your observation is both very true, _and_ very unflattering to TalksToNumbers,> he said.  He took another bite of the chocolate. 

She hitched her throat, carefully, and a second later regurgitated the frozen rat into her teeth.  She tossed the horrible sticky thing up and down a few times, and her eye rolled down to stare at him. 

<This is how we eat chocolate, yes?> she signed at the same time as she chomped on the rat.  <Together, chocolate is for.>   The chocolate rat disappeared down her throat again with a gulp. 

<Yes,> he agreed.  

<All of our visitors had positive motives, drawing them here.  Only TalksToBones alone did not have a reason to be here.  And it is a long way to travel without a positive reason, I thought.>

She was right, Owen realized.  <At no point did he say why he was here.>

<Which means that he must have a negative motive, one that he knew we would not like, one that he wished to conceal.  My reasoning was sound, but my proof was lacking.>  She held her talons motionless for a second, holding the thought, and then added, <Until now.>

He stared at her.  She really was smarter than he was, he realized.  This creature he had raised, who had hatched into his hands, and slept in his bed as a baby – she was all grown up now, and her intelligence had raced past him.  He was just a dumb Navy man with a training clicker, he thought.  <I am stupid,> he said. 

<No,> she signed.  <That, say it not.>

<I am stupid.  I trusted without reason.  I told him too much.  I almost told him where WingWatch’s nest is.>

<But you did not know.  Trusting easily is not a bad thing!  Do not say that you are stupid.  I did not tell you what I suspected because I saw how you admire him.  I hoped I was wrong, so badly.  Not for anything would I hurt you.>

<I admired him,> he said.  <He knows all about the Island of Clouds.  He knows about the first Real People.  I admired him.> 

<Admire him no more,>  she signed sharply.  <One day he will admire you!  You are greater than he is.  You will go further than he has gone.  You are more than he is - far more.  It pains me to hear yourself call yourself stupid.  Flexibility is the true mark of intelligence, and here you have adapted to all that you have seen here and now?  You are not stupid.>

Odd, how good it felt to be flattered by a dinosaur.  He was turning into a total sap, dammit, and he was glad no-one could see him.  He finished the Jet, and picked out the little animal sticker inside the wrapper.  Not a dinosaur; damn. He put the sticker in his pocket. 

Again, she pulled her neck back toward her shoulders, and brought the rat back up for Round Three.  Crunch, crunch.  Gulp.  

It dawned on him that every time he took a bite out of the Jet, the rat came back up again.  This was new behaviour.  Did _she_ want some Jet?  Raptors loved chocolate, as Ian Malcolm had noticed in his book.  It took a while to persuade them that the strange brown stuff was good to eat, but once they’d tasted it they liked it every bit as much as humans did.  He opened the second Jet. 

<Do you want some?> he signed. 

<I brought it for you.>

<I want to share it with you,> he insisted. 

<It pleases me to see you enjoy it,> she said.  

<As I share my life with you, so I wish to share my pleasures with you,> he signed.  <Sharing food is what humans do with Pack.  This matters to us.> 

<This I know,> she signed.  <It is bonding.  This is why I brought myself a rat as well to eat.> 

<But allow me to share my food with you,> he said.  <To us, the sharing of food is important.  It pleases me to share it with you.>  He broke the Jet in half, and raised it toward her. 

She blinked her eyes.  <I would like to share with you whatever pleases you.>

Handing anything edible to a raptor was a sure-fire way to lose a couple of fingers.  He raised the Jet, so that she knew it was coming, and tossed it at her lightly. 

She caught it out of the air in her teeth, and tossed it so that it would go down her throat lengthwise.  It went down her throat whole.  He finished his own chocolate, and scrumpled up the wrappers in his fist. 

<It is good,> she signed. 

<It is.>  As long as he had StripeSide, nothing else could harm him.  StripeSide would never leave him, never cheat on him, never betray him.  She was his dyad, and he was hers.  Her presence filled him with warmth.  

<Fear not for TalksToBones,> he signed.  <Now that we know who he is, and where  our enemy is, we are armed against them.  And YellowHair we know of old.> 

<We do not yet know their plans.> 

<Together we will learn.>

<Truth, this!  Together we can do anything.  I have dreams for the future.  I know what world I want to give to the next Alpha of Alphas!  TravelsOverWater kept the Pack safe.  I will make the Pack strong!  There is a way forward.  I do not yet know it but I know that I want to find it.  And you will find it with me.  We will go far, together!>

<How far?>  He’d heard all this, but he wanted to hear it again.  He knew her dreams; he shared them, but it pleased him to hear her say them all over again.  It made it more real, the world he was fighting for.  He did not bear this burden alone, he told himself; she carried it with her as well.   She too knew how fragile her people were. 

<We will go across the world!  FireMountain wishes one day to see the mountain he is named for!  One day I will go there too, and I will see what the inside of a planet looks like.  And you will be there with me, every step!  I have no doubts, none!  You will see!  Together we will make a whole new world!>

<This world of yours will be very interesting.>

<It will be a stronger world,> she signed.  <You have strengths, and we have strengths.  The Old Ones all died out because they had no humans to care for them, and build for them, and make things.  And your people have no Real People to watch them, and protect them, and stop them fighting each other.  But together!> 

Again, she brought up the Jet, and by now it was a ghastly mess that stained her teeth brown. <Ah, together we will make a world!> 

 

 

 

 


	8. Opening fire

 

StripeSide stood and stared up at the stars. 

Behind her, FirstHuman slept in the darkness of the pavilion.  As long as she sat here, the mosquitoes would leave him alone, she knew.  The Real People had left all their enemies and all their diseases behind them in time, except one.  Mosquitoes would much rather bite a dinosaur than a human, even now. 

That was her excuse. In truth, she simply wanted to be here when he woke again.  Humans slept deeply in large blocks of time.  FirstHuman’s distress had been upsetting to watch, but he had slept through the rest of the darkness, and she knew he would rise again with a clear eye and a composed bloodheat.  She wanted to see it.  She wanted to reassure herself that he would be all right.  All would be well.  He was hers, and she was his, and with him at her side she was sure she could accomplish anything.  

The sky in the east was beginning to lighten.  Already the brilliance of the stars was muted against the darkness.  Humans insisted on saying that the sun was 'rising,' as if the sun was moving, but in truth this part of the planet was turning back to face its star.  The new day would dawn soon, the humans would wake, and soon it would be her turn to take FirstHuman’s place in the pavilion and sleep. 

She heard a call from the darkness and saw the bloodheat of three dinosaurs approaching.  

“FireMountain, Copper and WoodAsh!” she called.   

Copper snapped her teeth, springing forward.  At her height, the effect of the gesture was quite impressive, StripeSide thought.  “Alpha of Alphas?” 

“You sent a message through MoonRain that you wanted to speak to us," FireMountain said.   

“I did," she said.  And they had arrived at exactly the hour she had specified.  “I have something important to tell you.  Come, jog with me to the river, and we will have a drink there.” 

They followed her.  The crops in the fields brushed against her flanks as she sliced through them.  

“You are now a year old,” she said to them, as she led them. 

“A year,” Copper agreed. 

“You have grown fast.  Look, you are taller than me, now.  You are almost grown.” 

“We are bigger than you,” FireMountain said.  “But still, we are a year old.”

“A year.  A year is auspicious,” StripeSide said.  “I think it is time to tell you where you came from.” 

“We know where we came from,” Copper said.  “You and FirstHuman found us in the rainforest, and rescued us when you were escaping from the humans.” 

“This is true.”  She reached the bank of the river, and paused, waving her tail.  The hard mud tried to grip her feet, but she marched to the edge, and stopped to examine the water  carefully.  One never knew what lurked in deep water, beneath the inscrutable cold.  

Copper did not bother.  She waded out hock-deep into the black water, and plunged her snout in. 

“We came from a human building,” FireMountain said. 

“Yes, that is where you came from.  But that is not what you are.”  She dipped her snout into the river and drank.  The water was cool against her throat.  Why did water always taste so much sweeter at night?  She raised her head, allowing the cool water to run from her jaws, and looked at the three Clouds.  “You have wondered why you look different to the rest of us.  It is time for you to know why.”

“I do not want to know,” WoodAsh said, miserably. 

“Nevertheless, it is time that you should know,” StripeSide said.  

“Do we not come from the rainforest, then?” Copper asked. 

“No,” StripeSide said.  “You came from where I came from.” 

“You came from the Island of Clouds.” 

“Yes.  I hatched there, and grew up there.  FirstHuman was my parent, but I was caged, and ignorant, and confused.  I did not know that I came from the same place that the Mad Giant Person came from.  Everything changed the night we encountered the Mad Giant Person.” 

 “We have heard this story, Alpha of Alphas,” WoodAsh said. 

There was no way to break the impact of what she was about to say.  There was no way to avoid it either.  She’d kept the truth from them for long enough.  FirstHuman thought they should be told.  StripeSide cringed from telling them the truth, but she knew that FirstHuman was right.  Secrets are like broken teeth, he said; they fester if they are not opened.  He was wise, and he was right. 

“That night, I learned that the WhiteCoatSorcerer who made me also made the Mad Giant Person.  This you know.  But what you do not know is who the Mad Giant Person was."

“She was a monster, and mad, and she killed many humans,” FireMountain said, as if he was eager to prove that he remembered WingWatch’s story. 

“She was not a monster,” StripeSide said.  “She was your mother.”

All three Clouds declared “I am shocked!” through their bloodheat. 

FireMountain staggered back, his head and neck recoiling in shock.  “No!” 

“The hands that made you, also made her.  You are blood of her blood; bone of her bone.  She was your mother.” 

“That cannot be!” Copper said. 

“No!” WoodAsh said.  “No, that cannot be!  It is not possible!”   

“Yes,” StripeSide said.  “You suspected that you are not of the same kind as the Real People, and you were right.  You are of the Mad Giant Person’s kind.  She was the first of the Cloud People.  She was your mother.”

“But… but…” Copper spluttered.  She whirled away, spinning around so that her long tail whipped through the air, and then turned back.  

“She could change her colour, as you do," StripeSide said.  "She had thumbs, as you do.  She had red eyes, as you do.  She was bigger than you, but in every way, you look like her.  And like you, she was part Real Person, but not all.  The human who made her knotted her together from many dinosaurs, the way they make a fishing-net, winding and knotting and binding her blood together from many strands.  And when he saw what he had made, he made you.” 

Some humans believed in a huge invisible person that they thought had made them, even though they could not prove that the invisible person had ever existed at all.  The invisible person was someone to praise and adore.  But StripeSide knew exactly who had made her.  Every inch of her flesh, a human named Letter-W Letter-U had put together.  Every drop of her blood, WhiteCoatSorcerer had written for her.  In a way, he had known her before she had ever broken out of her shell.  

He had created her – but she had killed him, and she was not sorry. Yes, he had made her  – but he had not cared for her.  He had made the Mad Giant Person, too – and not only had he not cared that his creation grew up alone and mad, he decided to make eight more just like her!  If that was a huge invisible person, he was an evil one.  StripeSide was not sorry that she had killed him. 

She tried to remember what FirstHuman had said to her. 

“The Mad Giant Person was mad,” StripeSide said.  “And diseased.  And also very young and very confused.  A human child raised alone becomes as EatsPlants is.  A Real Person raised alone becomes the Mad Giant Person.  She killed my sisters, and I was angry at her for a long time, until I understood what her life must have been like.   She was alone.  She was like you, but alone, confined, without a pack.  She was made, and then she was abandoned.”

 “But why?” FireMountain said. 

“Because WhiteCoatSorcerer thought that the Clouds could be used, as the Real People could not be used.  He thought that humans could use you, the way they use horses.  He thought you could be used to fight in battle, as beasts of war.  But he did not have the chance.  We found you first, and we stole you away from the WhiteCoatSorcerer.  We would not see you turned into the Mad Giant Person.”

The Clouds did not need to know that she had wanted to destroy them, when she found them.  She had seen what they were, and she had feared that they would grow as mad as their mother.  But FirstHuman had argued to save them, and she had yielded to his wishes, simply because they were his wishes.  In the end, he had been right, and she was glad she had listened.  Her human had great wisdom, she thought. 

She walked away from the river bank, leaving the three Clouds behind her, lest they see any sign in her bloodheat of the truth.  They followed her. 

“But… But… I don’t understand.”  Copper hissed. 

“It is much to understand,” StripeSide said, hissing back.  “You will have many questions.” 

“Why did you not tell us before?”

“We did not tell you, because you were little hatchlings.  Hatchlings are to be protected.  Now you are big, and you can know the truth.” 

“The truth that we are not Real People at all.”  FireMountain’s tail was drooping, and his bloodheat cried of his despair.  “We are monsters.” 

 “No!” StripeSide snapped her teeth, and let her anger flare in her bloodheat.  _“Never_ say that!  She was mad, because she was alone, but _you are not alone!_   You are Pack, and that is all that matters.  Hear me now!  This is the Law of StripeSide!  All who live in the Pack are the Pack, and the Pack is not only Real People!  Humans and Real People and Cloud People are all of the Pack!  We are all People in the Pack, or none of us are!  If we argue over who is a Person and who is not, we are just one degree from letting humans tell us that none of us are People!  And I will never allow anyone to tell me I am not a Person.  All who live in the Pack are Pack!  That is the Law of StripeSide!” 

“We are something else,” FireMountain said.  

“Yes,” StripeSide said.  “And the something else that you are is _good._   You have grown up to be aggressive, intelligent, and handsome dinosaurs!  If your mother knew that her offspring would grow up such fine dinosaurs, she would be very, very proud of you!” 

“Do you think so?” 

The Mad Giant Person had been so mad, she probably didn’t even know what eggs were, but any mother who was _not_ mad would be proud of them.   FirstHuman and WingWatch were proud of them.  ShinySmoothHead adored them as if he’d sired them himself.  They were fine young dinosaurs.  

“Absolutely,” she said. 

She reached the pavilion, and listened.  FirstHuman was still snoring placidly.  By the sound of it he was lying on his back now.

"And now you know the truth," StripeSide said. 

“Thank you for telling us,” Copper said.  “We have wondered.” 

“Might I tell SmallVoice?” WoodAsh asked. 

“It is your truth to tell who whoever you wish.  It is your truth.  Only five people know that your mother was the Mad Giant Beast – WingWatch and I, FirstHuman, SingsAlone and ShinySmoothHead.  We agreed that no-one would know.  We agreed to tell the Pack that we found you, that you are just strange looking Real People.”

There was a snort inside the pavilion.  StripeSide whirled. 

“My human wakes,” she said.  "I will go to him.  I would be the first sight my bond-mate sees this day."  

“We will depart,” FireMountain said. 

“Go, with goodwill behind you,” StripeSide said. 

* * *

 

“That’s enough for now,” Owen said, putting down the pen. 

“I can go on,” Malcolm said. 

It was Ian Malcolm’s first Raptor Sign lesson.  If he was going to court and be courted by SnailEater, they had to learn to speak to each other.  Owen had started with simple greetings and questions, and the difference between interrogatory sentences and imperative sentences.  SnailEater was an enthusiastic teaching assistant, and Carlo and BitterTooth had wandered in and started to help. 

“It’s enough, for now.”  Owen shook his head.  “You have to remember it if you’re going to practise it, and you have to practise.” 

“Practise, practise, practise, like any language,” Carlo said. 

Malcolm turned to SnailEater, who raised his feathers.  <I greet you,> he signed. 

<I greet you> SnailEater replied.  <Are you well?> 

<I am well.  Hungry, are you?>

<Yes,> Malcolm said, <Hungry, I am.  Hurt, are you?>

<No.  Hurt, I am not.> SnailEater said. 

That last one was important, Owen thought.  The raptors were tough, strong, and armed with sharp talons and vicious teeth; by comparison they thought that humans were as delicate as flowers.  They took huge pains not to hurt the humans around them – but a raptor getting to know a human closely would certainly hurt them frequently, without even meaning to.  It was inevitable; Owen had the scars to prove it.  That was why seeing a raptor with the points of his talons filed down was a sure sign that he was bonded with a human.  

“Anyway, you have six months to learn this,” Carlo said.  “ _Si,_ that is plenty of time.”   

“Six months?” Alan Grant asked.  He’d been watching the lesson curiously. 

“That’s how long their courtship takes,” Carlo explained.  “Six months.  Because believe me, all these nice fluffy feelings you’re feeling right now? They do _not_ last.  These feelings will wear off.  And only then, when the feelings wear off, only then will you know whether you’ve got a real tight bond.  In six months.”  

Malcolm and SnailEater, Owen thought, wryly. What a pair! Ian Malcolm deserved a dinosaur. SnailEater deserved an mathematician. They were perfect together, in all the wrong ways. Both had inflated opinions of themselves. Both were languid and handsome and _annoying._ Hopefully they would go and _be_ annoying in someone else’s pack, where Owen didn’t have to deal with them.

“Did _you_ take six months?”  Malcolm asked Owen. 

“We were different,” Owen said.  “I’ve known StripeSide her whole life.” 

<Someone comes,> interrupted SnailEater, turning his head and neck. 

It was Jorge.  He trotted up to the Hotel Dinosaurios with MoonRain behind him.  “Owen!” 

“Jorge, _amigo?_   Is something wrong?” 

“It is time, Owen!”  Jorge said.  “They’re awake, and starting to arrive at the church.”

MoonRain, BitterTooth and SnailEater were snapping at each other.  SnailEater sprang over the veranda in a single leap.  He landed with a bounce of his long tail, and screamed back over his shoulder. 

“Come on,” Owen said.  “Time to go.” 

Grant and Malcolm looked at each other.  “You ready to face the music, Alan?”

“This is my penance for Jurassic Park,” Grant said.  “I’m ready.  You?” 

“To reach the end of my bad dreams, once and for all?” Malcolm said.  “Lead on, MacDuff.” 

* * *

 

StripeSide watched carefully as the humans set up their tools. 

FirstHuman had explained it.  Somehow it was possible to hook this screen-toy onto the humans’ great network of screen-toys, and through that to suck pictures from a distant screen-toy and project them in a block of light against a wall.  That was as much as StripeSide understood about it. 

That also seemed to be about as much as FirstHuman understood about it, too.  He was standing back with his arms folded across his chest, watching TalksToBones fiddle with the screen-toy.   RoundAlpha was talking to the old human who was the Alpha of the invisibler person's house.  SmallVoice had got his screen-toy to talk to the device which was casting a block of white light against the wall at the front of the house.  Now TalksToBones was looking at the screen-toy, tapping on it, and muttering darkly under his breath.  FirstHuman had refused to translate his words. 

_Ihatecomputers…_

_Theyhateyoutoo…_ TalksToNumbers said.  _Neverletamachine knowthat youareina hurry…_

StripeSide turned her head and stared across the room. 

The huge invisible person's house was very big, and built to hold many people.  The shutters on the tall windows had been pulled down, so that it was slightly darker inside, and the long wooden benches the humans sat on to listen to stories of the huge invisible person had been moved to against the walls.  It was already crowded, with both humans and Real People.  

News had flown that TalksToBones was going to talk.  TalksToBones had pictures of the Old Ones, and he was going to show them.  The Real People had all woken up early from their first sleep to come and see, and there were many humans.  Fitting them all in here, even in such a large building, had been a matter of pushing the humans’ furniture to the walls, and getting the Real People to sit down on the ground so that the humans could squeeze themselves in around them.  The humans fitted themselves into the mass of scaly bodies as best they could. 

 Yes, she thought.  Oh, yes.  _This_ was the way the world should be.  Humans and Real People were sitting down to learn something new, together.  They were all in the same place, all learning.  Her world was possible after all!  This was what she had worked so hard to achieve.  If humans and dinosaurs could get along together, here and now – then why not elsewhere?  Why not all over the world?  The dream was achievable. 

Suddenly TalksToBones sat up, and the block on the wall showed the same picture as the screen-toy.  _Thatlookslike theone…_ TalksToBones sang.  _Owen willyoutellthem Iam readytostart._

 TalksToBones began to speak.  The block of light on the wall changed, and flicked to a picture.  

_Ohno thatiswrong thatisthewrong picture.  Nono whatisthe damnthing doingnow?  Ihatecomputers!_

But the Real People had already seen it, and they knew what it was.  It was the skeleton of a Real Person.  The bones lay in some sort of dry yellow sand, half rising from the earth, as if the dinosaur did not want to leave the embrace of the stone. 

“That is a Real Person!” SnailEater said.  His bloodheat flashing, “I am surprised!” 

StripeSide hissed. 

She had actually seen the bones of a Real Person before, but she was sure no-one else had.  She had found the bones during her exploration of the strange conical building on the Island of Clouds, and recognised the bones for what they were: her own kind.  She had stood before it, looking at the set of its bones, and feeling with one talon where the same bones in her own body lay.  She had stood in front of the skeleton for a long time, measuring herself before it, tracing its tail, looking up at its skull, looking down at its killing-claw, trying to work out why it was dead, and she was not.  

StripeSide set her killing-claws under her and raised herself to her full height.  She saw FirstHuman’s gaze flick to meet hers.  <Who is that?> 

FirstHuman sang to TalksToBones, his hand shaking in the human gesture which meant stop what you are doing!  He was pointing to the wall now, and then to StripeSide.  He waited as TalksToBones sang back, and then turned to face the house. 

<She has nothing to do with the Island of Clouds.  She was found by TalksToBones, far away, in a place called SnakeWater.  TalksToBones named this one the Pale Alpha of Alphas.  He thinks that she is seventy-four million years old.>

<She is a Real Person!> 

<He says the Pale Alpha of Alphas is the most complete skeleton of a Real Person they have ever found.  Her size, and the structure of her pelvis show that this one was probably female.> 

The Pale Alpha of Alphas … StripeSide thought, looking at the bones.  It was a good name. 

That was one of her own ancestors – one of the Old Real People.  She turned her head, looking up at the bones.  Was that someone like her?  Was that her family?  StripeSide knew that her blood had been copied from a Real Person who had died millions of years ago.  If her mother had met the Pale Alpha, millions of years ago, would they have understood each other?  Liked each other?  Spoken the same language? 

<How did she die?>  she asked. 

<TalksToBones does not know.  None of her bones were broken.  The place where SnakeWater is now was once a lake.  TalksToBones thinks she might have drowned, but he does not know for certain.>  

The skeleton’s head was arched tightly back to its shoulders, just as any dead Real Person after they died.  Her killing-claws were still in place, which meant the Old People did not collect and keep the killing-claws of their dead. 

How strange!  Keeping the killing-claws of their pack was something that the Real People all preferred to do.  It seemed respectful to carry the Pack’s dead with them for at least a moon.  How odd that the Old Ones had not done that!  Who had this Real Person been?  How had she died, that her pack-mates had not taken her killing-claws with them?  Their society must have been very different! 

A different world, she realized.  This Real Person had lived in a different world.  She gazed up at it, aware that the other Real People were also gazing at it, and discussing it among themselves. 

TalksToBones and FirstHuman were talking now.  StripeSide saw FirstHuman nodding his head; whatever it was he liked the idea. 

FirstHuman turned.  <TalksToBones wants to know if you wish to hear a voice from seventy-four million years ago?>

She cocked her head, but BitterTooth and LittleFrog spoke in unison before she could reply.  <How?>  he asked.

<He said the remains of the Pale Alpha were so complete, they were able to make a copy of her bones.  She had a chamber in her throat for sound just as you do.  They could make an identical copy for themselves out of plastic, and hear what she sounded like.> 

StripeSide watched closely.  TalksToBones reached into his pocket, and took out something small and pale.  It looked like a bone. 

<They were trying to work out how the Old Ones spoke,> FirstHuman signed, his eyes on the small piece of plastic.  <TalksToBones wanted to hear the song from a dinosaur who died seventy-four million years ago… He wanted to hear the song of the Old Ones.>  

“The song of the Old Ones?”  StripeSide said, aloud.  It was ridiculous to feel a prickle of dread in her bloodheat.  Those were only old dead bones.  Bones did not have opinions, she told herself.  

“A voice?” MoonRain said, aloud.  “Can he do that?” 

“It is a call, not a voice,” JaguarPaw said. 

“A call from an Old One,” SilverNose said.  “I would like to hear a call from an Old One…” 

<We will hear it,> StripeSide signed. 

 _Herewego…_ TalksToBones raised the little piece of creamy plastic to his lips, very gently.  He paused, as if judging the temper of his audience, and inhaled deeply before putting the plastic to his lips.

 StripeSide realized that her talons were clenched stiffly.  Her bloodheat was flushing,  curiosity with dread. 

A voice from the Old Ones?  But what if the voice was terrible?  What it if was a blast of contempt and anger, at StripeSide and her entire cohort?  What if the dead Old One was repelled by the idea of sharing your life with a mammal?  The Old Ones had lived in a world where mammals were tiny creatures hiding in caves.  What if the Pale Alpha’s dead voice screamed her disgust at StripeSide's world? 

FirstHuman had a saying.  He said that when you were faced with a difficult choice, the way to decide was to throw a piece of currency into the air.  By the time the currency hit the ground, your own bloodheat would have told you which way you really wanted it to fall…

No! StripeSide knew, even before TalksToBones breathed out - _her_ world would have humans in it!  The Old Ones were dead.   StripeSide was alive, and this was her world now.  And if StripeSide had a choice between bringing back the world of the Old Ones, and living with humans – she would choose the humans.  She would make no apologies to the Old Ones for the world she would build! 

TalksToBones breathed into the small piece of plastic, his eyes on the Real People.  The voice that warbled out was a greeting trill, such as any of the Pack might give to a bond-mate, or a beloved pack-mate, or to a cherished hatchling. 

There was a sudden roar of sound all around the invisible person house, as all the Real People recognised the sound, and exclaimed in surprise.  

“A voice!” SilverNose blurted, and even as she said it, the breath rushed through her throat in an answering greeting-call.  The oldest dinosaur in the room rose to her feet.  

<Great SilverNose,> StripeSide signed.  <You were hatched on the Island of Clouds.  You are the oldest of us here.  It is your place to reply.>

FirstHuman was explaining to TalksToBones, who jumped visibly and started at SilverNose.  

_Shewas there?_

_Sheleft beforethe JurassicParkIncident... Shewas oneofthe hatchlingswho stowedaway intheboat..._

<Great SilverNose> FirstHuman signed.  He turned to SilverNose and lowered his head to her, speaking to her as the Alpha's bond-mate.  His signs were confident.  <TalksToBones has learned that you were born on the Island of Clouds.  Will you tell your story?>

SilverNose stood. <This I will do,> she signed.  

She was old.  The scars on her snout that had given her name were white with age.  Her scutes had thickened with age, and were rough and ragged.  She was not glossy as TravelsOverWater, who had a human bond-mate to clean her teeth, groom her scutes, and keep her hide beautifully polished.  SilverNose was old, and _looked_ old. 

She stood up, looked around her at the room of dinosaurs and humans, and began to talk.  She told her story, and MoonRain translated, and MoonRain’s human translated into Human Song, and everyone, dinosaur and human, listened to the story of SilverNose. 

SilverNose had been hatched many years ago, and very far away.  Her parents had all been hatched in human hands, but they had laid their eggs in a secret place, and SilverNose had hatched in secret.  SilverNose had been raised in secret, and taught to  hide.  She was taught to move only after dark.  She was taught to make no sound.  She was taught to hide when humans passed by.  Leave no droppings.  Never leave the trees.  Never approach the fences.  Never run on the same track twice.  Never leave your prey half-eaten – better to go hungry than to leave half a meal where it can be seen. 

But most importantly, never approach a human, at all, for any reason.  Her parents never explained why humans were to be feared, except that they were dangerous. If they approach you, hide, and escape downwind of them. 

And if you _are_ seen and chased, _do not_ flee to the nest for help.  If you are seen and chased, you are on your own.  We cannot help you.  SilverNose had been taught to fear. 

StripeSide listened, in awe.  She could not imagine being afraid of a human!  FirstHuman had fed her, and taught her, and cuddled her, and fixed her hurts.  He’d loved her, and she had trusted him absolutely.  It was bizarre to imagine a world in which her kind feared his kind.   

SilverNose told the story of the cages on the Island of Clouds.  The juveniles had  learned to hunt small game – rats and procompsognathus, and occasionally the eggs of larger dinosaurs.  The cages were large enough to hunt in at night.  They were walled with electricity, and the current was powerful enough to make all your muscles contract at once.  Climbing the cages was impossible, but there were other ways to get out of the cage.  There was a tunnel to the nest that the humans did not know about.  In the nest, the eggs were laid in the darkness, and the hatchlings were raised in secrecy.  

That tunnel also led to the sea, and the sea was traversed by a boat, and the boat was the way to escape.  No-one knew what lay beyond the sea, but it had to be better than the Island of Clouds.  SilverNose remembered being taken to the sea one night by her mother,  and led carefully across the slippery rocks to the place where the boat would land against the island.  She remembered the warning of her mother. 

On the night when she and three others would escape, she would have a brief time to swim to the boat, and then she would have to climb up the rubber that lined the wall to which the boat was tied.  She would have to slip over the back end of the boat, and hide inside.  The four juveniles would have to stay hidden until the boat had travelled to wherever it went.   Then they would be on her own. 

 _Why,_ she asked, but she had no answer.  _You are large enough now to survive,_ she was told. 

_Why must I leave?_

“Because this is a place of death,” her mother said, and her bloodheat had radiated her fear and dread.  “There is no future for you here!  Go.  Be strong.  Stay hidden.  Find out if there are others of our kind on the other side of the sea.  If they are there, tell them where we are, and tell them to come and save us.” 

But nobody _had_ come to save them, StripeSide thought, listening to SilverNose tell her story.   SilverNose’s mother had got the opportunity she had waited for at last, and the adult Real People had fought back against the humans.  They fought a great desperate battle  – and they lost, and they died.  All of them. 

StripeSide could feel the sorrow in her own bloodheat.  SnailEater’s feathers were pressed flat against his neck.  BentTail’s forehands were pressed against his breastbone.  BitterTooth had wrapped his forehands around his human LittleFrog, and was holding him as if he would never let him go. 

“And now we are here, and I want to know what happened to my parents,” SilverNose said.  “And my younger siblings in the nest.  What happened to them?”

StripeSide signed to FirstHuman.  <She wants to know what happened to her parents and her siblings.>

TalksToBones sang, and FirstHuman translated.  TalksToBones’ voice was the only sound.  All were listening quietly.  BitterTooth’s human was translating from TalksToBones’ song to his own tribe’s song.  The only sound was the remote screech of birds outside.  Even the Real People were silent. 

It was a story that StripeSide knew well.  TalksToBones spoke of his journey to the Island.  He talked about the treacherous human who turned off the electricity in the cages, that allowed the Giant Beast and the Real People to escape.  He talked about learning that the dinosaurs were breeding.  He talked about seeing the juveniles hiding in the boat, and of his race across the island with the two small children to warn the humans that dinosaurs were escaping.  He talked about the Real People attacking the central buildings of the Island, stalking in the tool-building,  of the desperate battle in the kitchens.   He talked about learning that the Real People could open doors, he talked about being inside, with the Real People outside trying to break in…

He talked about being pursued by the Real People – pursued with a persistence that did not make sense at all if the Real People were only animals trying to hunt for food, but which became clear if you knew that they were fighting a desperate battle for their freedom …

<And then they died,> FirstHuman signed.  < After TalksToBones and TalksToNumbers escaped – the human tribe who lived close by attacked with flight-engines.  They dropped bombs and fire from the sky.  The Real People died.>

<But why?> SilverNose signed.  Her sign language was poor – she didn’t have a human to practice with. 

< Because our people always fear things that we do not understand,> FirstHuman said, and StripeSide noticed he did not ask TalksToBones before replying.  < We did not understand you, and you did not understand us.  We thought you were animals, and you thought we were monsters.>

TalksToBones looked up. 

He had been staring at the ground, listening with his eyes closed, and when he raised his head and looked at SilverNose again StripeSide saw that there was salty water streaking his lined cheeks. 

“He is leaking out of his eyes!” SilverNose said, surprised.   "What is that?"  

“It is a sign of distress,” StripeSide explained.  “Humans cannot speak through their bloodheat, but this is a sign of distress.  He feels distress at your sorrow!  Smell it, smell the salt of it?  When you recall this moment, recall that smell, and know that it is the smell of sorrow!” 

StripeSide realized that she was timbering unhappily only when FirstHuman reached up a hand, and massaged the soft hide of her throat reassuringly. 

TalksToBones was still singing.

<TalksToBones says to you, SilverNose,> FirstHuman said.  <He says that he will make sure that everyone knows what really happened on the Island of Clouds, so that it will never ever happen again.>

<And my mother,> SilverNose signed.  <He was there when she died.  He knows  what happened to my mother.>

FirstHuman translated, and then translated back.  <He says he knows not which was your mother.  He said there were many Real People.  He says that he is sorry.> 

SilverNose sighed, and her bloodheat spoke of a deep sorrow, as if she had lost her family all over again.  “I have no anger,” she said, aloud.  “We did not understand, and neither did they.  We could not hear you, and you could not hear us.  I knew the Real People I left behind were all dead, but I thank him for telling me.” 

“It was a war,” StripeSide said.  “And this is why we are here.  This is why TravelsOverWater led the pack deep into the forest, and why I led them out again.  Because there must never be another war between humans, and Real People…” 

* * *

 

After the lecture, Cristian put the projector away. 

Malcolm regained his cane and stood turning the amber orb on the end round and round, watching Cristian.  SnailEater came and stood watching Malcolm.  After a moment, Malcolm raised his arm over SnailEater’s back, and leaned on his broad hip so that SnailEater could take some of his weight. 

SnailEater didn’t seem to mind being treated as a saurian walking-frame. 

StripeSide came over to Owen  and stood just behind him, and he suddenly felt his arm being grabbed.  She had seized his arm in her forehand, and pulled it up to her neck. 

“You don’t have to grab me, you know, girl,” he said. 

She pulled insistently on his arm, and he got the message.  He looped his arm over her neck, and she let him go with a deep sigh. 

 _Oh, velociraptor jealousy_ , he thought.  SnailEater had something, so StripeSide must have it too.  Her neck fitted nicely under his arm.   They couldn’t talk that way, because her forehands were down at his side, but it was nice to lean against her strong body.  He reached his other hand under her, found her throat, and scratched it. 

 “That went well, I think,”  Owen said, and realized his voice was tight and dry from too much talking. 

“That was certainly _different,”_ Grant said.  “I’ve never given a lecture on dinosaurs to dinosaurs before.” 

“And it was all recorded,” Virgilio said.  “Roy filmed it all.  That will go far in proving to outsiders that the raptors really are smart.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm said.  “Your ah, Labradoodle might sit next to you and watch a bit of TV.  But _no_ dog is going to sit and listen to an hour-long lecture about fossils.”  

“Let alone respond to a mention of tails by turning around and looking at their tails,” Owen said, grinning. 

Grant had discussed the differences between _Velociraptor nublarensis,_ with their expressive tails, and the fossil raptors, whose tails were stiffened by an ossified tendon that ran along the dorsal edge, and were probably used as rudders for faster turning at the hunt.  The first mention of ‘tails’ had been enough to make every dinosaur in the church turn around and stare at their own tail as if they’d never seen it before. 

“I need to call Neil DeGrasse-Tyson, Kip Thorne, and Stephen Hawking, and everyone else I can think of who has a stake in the raptors and shout excitedly at all of them..." Malcolm said.   

“Stephen Hawking?” Owen said, confused. 

StripeSide was staring resolutely down at the floor, her eyes half-closed.  She’d always been the thinking raptor, sitting back and concentrating furiously whenever she saw something new.  He wondered what she was thinking about now, but he knew she would run her new ideas past him once she’d thought them over. 

In here, with him, at least no-one was pushing the queen to make an instant decision.  She could lean against him, and think in peace. 

“Oh, yeah,” Malcolm was burbling to himself, exulting in his own cleverness.  “Ah, I wish I could call Lynn Margulis – she wrote on symbio-genesis. Yes, if anyone could talk about dinosaurs, it would be Lynn…” 

He secretly wanted someone to ask him who Lynn Margulis was, Owen realized, which meant Owen bloody well was _not_ going to ask him and give him the satisfaction of showing them all how clever he was. 

“What does Stephen Hawking have to do with animal intelligence?”  Grant asked.

“You’re not _seriously_ still thinking about animals, are you?” Malcolm asked. 

“Of course we are,” Grant said. 

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about every day for the past year,” Owen said. 

“I can’t really blame you,” Malcolm said.  “You’re an animal trainer.  You know animals.  You think in a certain academic paradigm – and yes, yes, I’m sure you know everything important in your field.  But like all one-field thinkers, you have fallen into a mental silo.  You can’t see the answer to your problem, because the answer lies _outside_ your silo.” 

Owen jumped, as StripeSide moved suddenly.  She jerked her head around and snapped her teeth at SnailEater, who yanked himself up to his full height and screamed back at her. 

“Easy, Blue, easy, girl,” Owen said, reaching out and running his hand over her fierce jaw.  “He’s an asshole, I know, I know… It’s all right…” 

StripeSide withdrew with a shuddering snarl, glaring at SnailEater. 

“Are they talking to each other?”  Malcolm asked.  “Right now?” 

“Course they are,” Owen said.  “They’re talking all the time.  We just can’t hear them…” 

Malcolm blinked his eyes and shook his head.  “Right.  Where was I?  Animals.  You think you’re stuck.  You told me the raptors are caught in a Catch-22.  Either they’re extinct animals, in which case InGen owns them and they have no rights.  Or they’re not extinct animals, because Henry Wu designed them, in which case InGen owns them and they have no rights.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Owen said.  “But we have to find a way to make an exception in the law, on the basis of their intelligence, and we have nothing to go on.  There are no legal precedents for this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Malcolm said.  “There _is_ a precedent.  There are protocols that must be followed.”

“Protocols?” Grant asked.  “Are you serious? 

“The SETI people drew up a protocol for making the announcement.  They’re the only ones who’ve really thought much about alien intelligence, since it’s, ah, kinda what they _do_ there.”

“SETI?” Owen asked. 

“The Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence,” Malcolm explained. 

“I know what SETI is!” Owen said.  “What does SETI have to do with dinosaurs?” 

“You don’t see it yet?” Malcolm looked around.  “Must I spell it out?  You’re thinking on the wrong scale.  You _should_ be thinking in galactic terms.” 

“Galactic terms?” Virgilio said. 

“I need something to write with!” Malcolm said.  “Paper?  Pen!” 

“Here,” Cristian said. 

“Ah-ha!” Malcolm snatched up the paper, and flipped it over.  He didn’t bother to look at what was written on the other side, just pulled a pen from his pocket and started dashing off a long equation.   “This Earth of ours, it’s not a particularly special planet, you know.  Not at all.  It’s downright mundane.”

“It’s Earth.  Wow enough,” Owen grumbled. 

“You’re just saying that because you live on it,” Malcolm said.  “Parochialism isn’t cute, you know.  No, there are millions of planets out there, just like Earth, orbiting stars just like ours, in millions of galaxies just like the Milky Way.  Billions and billions, as Sagan liked to say!  And years ago, a very clever man named Drake wrote an equation to help figure out how many alien civilisations might be out there, hiding in those billions and billions.  And this is his equation.”

He turned around the piece of paper, and held it up. 

N = _R_ * .  _f p_ . _n e_  . _f l_ . _f i_ .  _f c_ . _L_

“Okay?” 

Malcolm put the page down again.  “If N is the number of active alien civilisations in the galaxy, then N depends on a whole range of factors.  We have the rate of star formation, the number of stars with planets, the average number of planets per star, the number of planets with life, the number of life-forms with intelligence, the number of intelligences that project their presence into space – and of course, how long they survive.  Plug in the numbers, and you _should_ get a rough guess-timate for how many, ah, little green men are out there listening to our radio broadcasts from the 1930’s.  We probably share the cosmos with millions of other civilizations.” 

Owen was getting lost.  Did Malcolm have a point, or was he just waffling?  Owen was glad he had never had Ian Malcolm as a teacher.  “Yeah, okay, but what’s the relevance of all that?” 

“The relevance is that now, we can plug in another factor… which is to say how often intelligent life _reappears_ on the same planet, or _n r _.  Thanks to Henry Wu, _one_ of those ancient alien species has come back to life.”  He picked up the pen, and pointed it at StripeSide, still standing next to Owen.  _“Her_ alien species.”   

“Aliens?”  Guerrero blurted. 

“The raptors aren’t aliens,” Owen said.  “They’re dinosaurs.” 

“I beg to differ,” Malcolm said.  “The raptors are _aliens,_ not animals.  They’re intelligent, they’re people.  Non-human intelligent minds.  Beings, not beasts.  Aliens.” 

“But there are no legal precedents for aliens either,” Owen said.  

“Ah, but there _is_ a precedent for aliens,” Malcolm said.  “Just in case aliens in big ships ever arrive, for realsies.  There’s a process.  A protocol that you're supposed to follow.  I know there is – I helped write it.”

“You’re kidding,” Grant said. 

“If you detect an alien civilization – in other words, if you met _her,”_ Malcolm pointed at StripeSide,  “there are steps that you are supposed to follow.  First we inform the International Astronomical Union.  And then, we inform the Secretary General of the UN.  And then the UN does the negotiating.”   

“But we can’t claim that the raptors are aliens,” Owen said.  “Aliens means extraterrestrial.  Doesn’t it?”

“And if there’s one thing we can say about dinosaurs, it’s that they are terrestrial,” Grant said. 

“The original inhabitants of this planet,” Guerrero said, and his face looked as if he was watching the sun rise. 

“The raptors _are_ effectively aliens, because the Earth of sixty-five million years ago is effectively another planet.  I said that to Hammond, years ago, but he didn’t listen.   You can’t bring back a lost world. It's gone.  This planet _was_ their world once, but it’s _not_ their world any more.  They don’t belong here; not really.  They're aliens; aliens in time.  ” 

“ _Their_ world died,” Owen said.  “There’s nothing left of their world.  It’s gone.” 

“The question is _not_ intelligence.  The question is not even personhood.  The question is whether the human species accepts the presence of an alien intelligence on the same planet… whether the current and past owners of this planet are going to be able to share it.  Henry Wu brought them back through time, and the only question is whether we can co-exist – and _only_ the UN can answer that question.” 

StripeSide seemed to notice at last that she had been mentioned in the humans’ conversation, because she suddenly snarled.  Owen went back to massaging her throat, soothingly. 

“So that's what we have to do.  We bypass InGen,” Malcolm said.  “We bypass CITES, bypass all that animal rights stuff, because it's a waste of time.  The raptors are an alien intelligent race, and as such, they have to go straight to the UN.  They need to sign a treaty with the United Nations as a fully independent sovereign alien species.  And once the UN and the raptors have signed a treaty, face-to-face, one species with another,  everything else will be a moot point.” 

“Aliens,” Owen said.  He looked at StripeSide.  She was regarding him coolly out of one honey-coloured eye, her vertical pupil shifting as she examined him.  “Are you an alien?”

<About what do you speak?>

<About plans for the Great Project,> he said.  <TalksToNumbers has an idea.  I will explain it, once I understand it fully.> 

Maybe she _was_ an alien?  Owen had no way to know what her life really felt like.  A mammal instinctively understood  the feelings of another mammal, like a dog, or a horse, because they shared reflexes, emotions, sensory organs.  It was harder to grasp the feelings of a species as alien as a parrot, or a crocodile – and dinosaurs were many times more alien than a parrot.  The only reason he understood StripeSide, and she understood him, was because some miracle of convergent evolution had given the dinosaur and the primate large enough brains to reach out across seventy-one million years, and _talk_ to each other. 

_An alien – oh yes._

 “This … this might actually work,” Owen said.   

“It has got to work,” Malcolm said.  “It’s the only thing that can.  This is the only way that doesn’t end up with the raptors getting … cleaned away.  Extinct animals have no rights.  GMOs have no rights.  But alien beings have rights.  Or at least, hah, as far as the UN goes, they do.”  

“Aliens from the Jurassic,” Virgilio said.  “Hmm.   Could work.” 

“We’ll make it work,” Owen said.  He knotted his fists.  “If this is the only way, then we’ll have to make it work.  The raptors are not going extinct again.  Not on my watch.” 

“Ah, but wait,” Malcolm said.  “I haven’t got to the exciting part yet!”   

"There's more?"

"Oh, yes.  Oh, yes.  The world is about to get very interesting." 

He picked up the piece of paper and held up the long equation again.  “Drake’s Equation is a wonderful thought experiment.  It helped us think rationally about the possibility of alien life,  about the concepts we need to consider when we’re thinking about, ah, astro-biology.  But the Drake Equation has one glaring flaw.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Where are the neighbours?  Even if the probability of alien civilisation is vanishingly small – the universe is unbelievably huge.  Even a tiny probability still gives you a very big number.  So where is everyone?”  Malcolm showed the page around.  “If there are thousands of alien civilisations out there, why haven’t we met them?  And that’s, that's what we call Fermi’s Paradox.  Either the aliens all die out before they get to interstellar communication, or there is something badly wrong somewhere in the Drake Equation.”

“Okay,” Owen nodded.  “So what’s the answer?” 

“There is no answer,” Malcolm said.  “Nobody knows.  But you – and our friends here – it’s possible, if not, ah,  _probable_ that _you_ are the answer to Fermi’s Paradox.”

“Us?” 

“Maybe you need _two_ civilizations at the same time to get out into space, and start expanding into the galaxy.  Maybe two species can achieve things no single  species can take on alone.  We are a species of builders.  We have hands, fingers, opposable thumbs, to build things.  And they seem to have highly sophisticated abstract thinking abilities.  No human in the history of the world has _ever_ picked up Euclid literally overnight.  But equally, no _dinosaur_ has ever been dug up with, ah, with a hammer and chisel next to them.  Maybe, there’s a missing step in the Drake Equation… Maybe a space-faring civilization requires _two_ species acting in concert … Symbiosis... xeno-symbiosis… A _binary_ civilization.”

There was a crash at the door, and Flavio threw himself into the church.  The door crashed and he bolted in up the nave, skidding on the floor. 

_“Fire!”_

StripeSide could not have understood the word spoken, but she seemed to recognise Flavio’s tone, and she definitely understood his finger, pointing toward the door.  Trouble!  Owen was sent staggering, as she exploded from under his arm like a racehorse breaking from the gate.  She sprinted past Flavio and out of the door. 

“Fire?” Owen said. 

“The forest is burning!”  Flavio shouted. 

Owen spun to stare at Guerrero, and found the Mayor’s face bleaching white under his dark complexion. 

“Fire!” Guerrero echoed in horror.  “And it’s the dry season!” 

Owen whirled and sprinted past Flavio.  He crashed out of the door and leaped down onto the ground in the sun. 

Owen was aware of the people around him, aware that they were all standing and staring up at the horizon.  He was aware of Guerrero and Grant running out behind him and freezing with him.  He saw the cantina owner, staring in the square, his mouth dropped open, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon.  He turned, knowing already what he would see. 

The sky over the western horizon was the colour of ginger-beer.  It was smoke, rising in the breeze, reaching out to blanket the town. 

StripeSide was in the centre of the square, also staring up.  Her great golden eyes were fixed on the sky, wide, her slit pupils dilated.  Even as he looked, Owen saw the change run through her long body.  She hunched down, her jaws dropping over, and a warble broke out of her.  It was as if every scute all the way down her blue hide had clamped tight, trying to make herself small and cower against the ground from the threat in the sky. 

That was fear! 

Owen had never seen a frightened raptor before.  It was still strange to realize that a raptor could feel fear – but that was fear.  She was on the verge of panic.  A second or so, and her freeze would break, and she would spin and run. 

And if the queen panicked, then the rest of La Patasola would panic with her.  Even as he watched, FireMountain swung his head to her, and then SnailEater, and old SilverNose, and he saw the queen’s reaction ripple over the rest of the Pack.  Copper opened her jaws, and made a shrill terrified warble as if she was a hatchling again.  . 

He didn’t know what she was saying, but he knew what she _could not say_. 

“HOLD!” he roared. 

He threw himself bodily off the veranda.  He flung himself in front of StripeSide, just as she whirled around to leap away.  He got there just in time to block her way.  He threw out both hands, stretching himself across her path.  She stopped short at the sight of him, skidding to a halt. 

“I said HOLD!  _**HOLD!”**_

She stared at him, panting, as if she’d never seen him before. 

Louder, so that they all heard him!  **_“HOLD!”_**   He kept both hands out in the Stand Down sign.  “Blue!  _Eyes on me!_ Hold!” 

She dropped her jaw so that he saw straight down her throat, and screamed at him.   <Fire!> she signed.  <We run!> 

“Hey!” he barked at her.  “Hey!  _What_ did I just say?”  He swung one outstretched arm, so that his palm was pointing directly at her. 

She backed off, her neck swaying anxiously, as if she was a hatchling again.  She was staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. 

Off on his right side, BentTail was taking a trembling step forward. 

“Hey!  You!  I see you!” Owen barked at BentTail, staring hard at him.  “And you!  SilverNose!  I see you right there!  Hold!  _**Hold!”**_ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nyiragongo trembling, taking a step, and backing off.  

My God!  He was holding them back!  There were thirty-one raptors in town, and most of them were here, and Owen was holding them back!  He’d once felt relieved that he’d been able to hold back just _four,_ and here were over two dozen raptors staring at him. 

 ** _“HOLD!”_**   he roared. 

He was aware of Jorge at his side.  Jorge was standing braced against MoonRain, with both hands pressed against MoonRain’s breastbone as if he could hold her back with sheer force.  Carlo and Victoria were standing like Owen was, blocking the raptors with their arms outspread, as if just the three of them could keep the whole pack from panic with sheer force of will. Prey animals would have stampeded by now, Owen thought; a herd of horses or cattle would have run them down.  Only the fact that they were predators was holding them, only the fact that Owen had their full attention. 

Across the square, Virgilio Guerrero was already snapping out orders.  “Open the fire store, and bring out the Pulaskis!  Martin, the back-pack pumps!  Flavio!  Get on the radio to Florencia!  Tell them we’ve got a major fire here, and it’s just a couple of miles away, and we’re going to need firefighters!  Get up into the steeple, and ring the bell!  Find Doctor Somersby!”

A raptor screamed shrilly, a long equine whinny of fright. 

“Hold!” 

He sent his attention back to StripeSide, and pulled his hands to his sides, elbows first so that every raptor watching knew that he was moving to communicate and not backing down.  Every dinosaur eye was on him.  He could not show fear. 

<We stand and fight!  Flee, not!> 

<Fire burns!  It comes!>  A shudder of terror went through her, and she twisted her head back to stare at the terrifying sky.  She let out a warbling cry of distress.  <We must flee!  You must flee with us!> 

<We must fight!> he signed, pulling his eyebrows down over his eyes as tightly as he could. 

<Fight?>  StripeSide stepped back, her neck snaking.  <How do we fight fire!  Fire is death!>

<We know how to fight fire!  Our species tamed fire thousands of years ago!  Stand with us, and fight!  Trust me!  Flee, not!> 

She pulled her head up and around, and stared around her at the town, and at her pack.  <Fight?>

<Fight for the town!  Fight with us!  We know fire!  We fear it not!> 

She let out a shuddering cry, and backed away a step.  <To trust!> she signed. 

<Command them to stay!> he signed. 

He knew he had her, when she took a step away from him, and straightened out her crouch.  She turned, her tail swinging, and stared back up at the terrifying sky, but she did not flee.  <We fight!> she signed. 

He had her! 

He turned on his heel, and his eyes went back up the sky.  When they’d gone into the church, there had been no fire.  Now, smoke was ribboning the sky in a wide arc around the town from north-west to south-west.  Where the hell had it come from so suddenly?

“Get the kids,” he said, without looking around, “and the hatchlings, and put them somewhere safe.” 

“Owen!” Virgilio shouted.  “We’ll put the babies in the church.  The roof is stone, it’ll stand!  Tell StripeSide to fetch the hatchlings and bring them here.” 

Owen turned around.  <Find the hatchlings!> he ordered.  <Bring them here, where they can be safe!  We will fight this fire together!> 

Above his head, the church’s one bell began to clang, echoing over the town. 

* * *

 

Scott and Stonebridge had no more reason to hide the fact that they were soldiers. They’d cleaned their weapons on the veranda of the Hotel Dinosaurios after breakfast, openly, and they were now patrolling with their weapons out, openly. 

If, as they thought, Thornton and La Leona were going to attack, it made sense that they should learn their way around.  They had hired the boat again, and gone upriver.  They were exploring around the river to the west, upriver, so that when the attack came they would know the lie of the land. 

Ahead of him, Scott saw Michael throw one fist up in a signal to stop.  Scott paused, keeping his eyes focused around them while Michael checked out whatever had caught his attention to his front. 

He could hear voices, he realized, under the usual sounds of the jungle. 

Michael pointed forward.  _Moving._  

They paced forward, and suddenly Scott could smell smoke.  There shouldn’t be smoke here.  There were no houses here, and no reason for anyone to be cooking over an outdoor stove.  He saw Michael tap his nose in the signal that he smelled it too. 

They moved forward, closer to the voices.  Michael signalled that he had visual contact, and they edged carefully forward.

There was a group of men there, half hidden in the dense trees.  They came and went between the bushes, moving about, difficult to count.  Scott and Michael waited until they were sure. 

“I see five dudes.” 

“Confirm hostiles?”  Michael hissed. 

“Can’t confirm fuck-all.  Look like they’re just chillaxing.” 

As Scott watched, one of them dropped a jerry-can with a bang.  He reached into his equipment belt and pulled out a flare.  He ripped the tab on the flare, and threw it forward into the stand of flowers. 

It blazed like a bright magenta flower against the bushes for a split second and then the tree seemed to ripple as flames flowed over the trunk.  The three men fell back as the fire caught,  and there was a laugh. 

“Oh, fuck that, they’re hostiles all right,” Michael said.   

“Going forward!” Scott barked.  He rose from his position and bolted forward.   _“Hola!”_ he bellowed.  

The men by the fire saw him coming, and swung.  There were five of them, and four of them had their weapons in their hands.  The roar of automatic weapons shattered the jungle, taking them completely by surprise.  Scott’s weapon lined itself like a snake, and he fired a double-tap into the first man’s chest, and then fired on the others.  He hit one in passing, and the man tumbled back, staggering, and stumbled blindly into the burning tree.  His clothing was immediately ablaze, and he whirled away with a shriek and tried to run. 

And then they were throwing themselves into cover and returning fire on Scott and Michael. 

Scott folded down against a tree, and swore.  The fire was already rising, flames knotting as it started on its path up the thick knots of lianas and bromeliads toward the canopy.  He could already hear its voice, grumbling hungrily.  The smoke bit at his throat. 

The man who was burning was screaming horribly somewhere out of sight.  

There was a momentary lull, one of those pauses in combat where everyone stops to  wonder what the ever-living fuck they’re supposed to do now.  Scott could hear shouts in Spanish, as the three surviving enemies tried to figure out where the hell the two legit combat infantrymen had come from, and where they’d gone.  He kept silent. 

He saw a movement on his left. 

It was Michael, raising his fingers, knowing that the movement would draw Scott’s eye straight to him.  Michael saw Scott’s eyes on him, and he signalled silently with his fingers.  _I hear them.  Two, left.  One, right.  No visual.  You circle,_ _three o’clock_ _. Flank them._

 _A live one_ , Scott signalled. 

Michael nodded, without changing his facial expression.  They would take one alive. 

Scott raised his hand, counting with his fingers.  _One… two… three._  

On the count of three, Michael rolled up out of his cover and opened fire.  As Michael opened up, Scott broke out, hooking right.  He put his head down and ran, the leaflitter soaking up his footfalls.  Their attention was on Michael, who was bellowing and spraying them with gunfire, and Scott hooked around them and came on them from the flank, just as Michael cut out his fire to avoid hitting his partner. 

They’d been hiding behind a fallen tree, and standing still, which was death in a skirmish.  They tried to turn and fire, but Scott was already on them, too close, and  too fast.  He fired into the one’s chest, and caught the second with a spray-and-pray. 

The third man, closest to Michael, decided being shot at from close quarters was too much for him.  He panicked and bolted. 

Scott whirled after him, but he didn’t even have to open fire.  The man ran straight onto Michael Stonebridge, who closed rock-hard fingers around his throat and plucked his rifle out of his grasp as if he was flicking a tulip out of the hands of a sickly child.  The man thrashed, and tried to pull out a knife, and Michael gritted, “Not happening, mate!”  He just picked up the man by the throat as if he was Batman, and slammed him down on his back on the ground, and then stood on his throat. 

Scott checked on the others.  Dead, or dying.  “Clear,”  he shouted. 

“Got a live one here, mate!” 

“Awesome,” Scott could leave Michael to it. 

The man he’d shot had stopped screaming by the time Scott tracked him down.  He must have got gasoline on him, because he’d splashed flames in all directions as he went.  Scott stopped as he went, to stamp the ashes out under his boots before they could burst into spot-fires.  Scott found him lying on his back, gasping for air, and tried to avoid looking too closely at him. 

Fire!  He hated fire!  He’d always had a secret phobia about fire, ever since he came across a description of being burned at the stake as a kid.  He hid it because it was his job, but the thought of ending up like _this_ poor asshole made creeping twangs of horror run up the backs of his arms from his elbows to the nape of his neck. 

“I’m real sorry, dude,” he said, and put a bullet into the man’s head to stop his agony.   He left him there, and found Michael had followed him, dragging his prisoner. 

“Hey, where are you going?”  Scott asked.  “We gotta go deal with that!”  He bypassed Michael, heading for the fire.  “You gotta trenching tool, or a Pulaski?” 

“Why the hell would I be carrying a Pulaski?” 

“Anything that can dig!”  Scott put his weapon down, and took off his jacket.  He advanced on the flames, trying to beat it out.  “We gotta put this out!  ” 

He wrapped the jacket around his arm and tried to yank down a burning liana, but the liana was already burning and just came apart in his fingers, and he singed his eyebrows.  He jumped back.  “Jesus, it’s too far gone already!  D’ye know if they have firefighters in town?” 

“Mate, stop.”

 “Mikey, help me here, damn it!  It’s an El Nino year!  They haven’t had rain in three weeks!” 

“Scott, pack it in, stop!” Michael shouted.  “This one little fire is the _least_ of our problems right now!” 

Scott felt fingers grip his shoulder and tug him around, and at last, at the tug and the tone of Michael’s voice, he turned and looked up.  He followed Michael’s pointing finger and looked up.

They were on a slope, and the canopy of trees broke around them, so that they could see clearly across the landscape to the south.  Scott could see the sky and the landscape tracing away into the distance.  “Ah, fuck me.” 

All around them, in an arc from north-west to south-west, plumes of smoke were already rising into the sky. 

“I think we’ve just found out what La Leona’s next play is,” Michael said. 

* * *

 

 

Thornton walked out to the veranda of the villa, and stood looking out.  In the distance, the sky above the trees was a muddy brown colour, like ginger-beer.  He couldn’t smell it from here; the breeze was taking the smoke to the east, in the direction of the town. 

For a moment, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.  It had been so ingrained in him that arson in the bush was a desperately evil crime.  Huge wildfires swept his own country regularly in the dry season, sweeping across acres of bush.  Wildfires cost millions of dollars a year to fight; wildfires destroyed homes, and killed people.  A fire fighting helicopter cost thousands of dollars per hour to fly, just in fuel.  If his family and friends in Queensland had known…

… but they _wouldn’t_ know, he told himself.  And besides, Colombia was a long way from the dry, barren Red Centre.  It was the rainforest, for Pete’s sake, it was a literal jungle.  It would all grow back quickly.  And wasn’t it a cheap price to pay to get rid of the velociraptors, before they spread?  Yes, a bit of arson was a cheap price.  If his own country had a chance to light a couple of fires to get rid of cane toads, wouldn’t they have taken it?  Or rabbits?  Or brumbies?  Australia had a devil of a job dealing with invasive aliens; today there was a rigid quarantine around the continent, but it was too late to keep out the cane toads.  And if cane toads were fugly little bastards, they were cuddly next to velociraptors.

Yes, he was doing the right thing.  If his family and friends in Queensland could see him now, they’d applaud, and crack open a tinny, and no mistake. 

“Mr Thornton!”

He heard a woman’s voice, and turned.  Emilia Gomez was walking toward him.  She sat down on the verandah, and he walked toward her. 

“Sit down, Mr Thornton!” she said, waving him to a chair.  “Is everything ready to go?”  she asked. 

“I showed Pedro what to do with the darts,” Thornton said, sitting down. 

“He did,” Pedro said.  He strolled around behind Thornton’s chair out of sight.    “Thick gauge needles; they’ll get through dino hide with no problem.” 

“And my pilot knows what do to?”  she asked. 

“He does,” Pedro said.  “Senor Thornton explained exactly what the velociraptors will do.” 

“They’ll stand for a while,” Thornton said.  “Animals don’t automatically understand that fires will get to them.  By the time they get frightened and run away, they’ll have only one way to run.” 

The helicopter would take off soon.  The fires were their beaters, helping the hunter, driving the prey where they could be struck down.  The raptors would be driven downriver between the flames, and the helicopter would shoot them down. 

The velociraptors knew about helicopters.  The chopper at Jurassic World had shot down Blue and Delta once, but that pilot had been a moron, and he’d landed before he was sure the animals were down.   Velociraptor were ambush predators by instinct, and that pilot had paid for his stupidity with his life.  But Thornton had warned the Colombian pilot not to fall into the same trap.  No matter what happens, even if you have engine trouble, even if you think the coast is clear – _do not_ land the helicopter anywhere but La Leona’s villa.   

 “And San Judas Tadeo does not have road access,” La Leona said.  “No roads, no outside help, no firefighters coming to put out the fire…” 

“The raptors will run away from the fire,” Thornton said.  “And when they run away… we’ll be waiting for them.  When the raptors come past, we kill them _all.”_

 

 

 

 


	9. Fighting together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor character death; be warned.

Guerrero was handing out tools.  He had opened the town’s armoury, and now men of the town were dragging out equipment and handing it out.  Owen watched as pallets of Pulaskis, axes, and saws were brought out into the sunshine. 

“You’re fully equipped,” Owen said. 

“We’re in the middle of the forest,” Guerrero said.  “Fires happen, and we’re far from help.  We have to be prepared.  Ah, Flavio!” he shouted past Owen.  “Are those the maps?  Here, bring them here, this is my HQ!” 

He stepped quickly over to the trestle table he’d set up under the shade of the tree.  The square was almost the highest point of the town, and easy to access. Guerrero and the Town Clerk spread the maps out, with a rustle of paper, and weighted them with with chips of broken concrete.

“This is accurate?”  Owen asked, taking up a place at Guerrero’s elbow and looking down at the creamy expanse of paper. 

“Very,” Flavio said.  "Army surplus."

On the other side of the trestle-table, StripeSide appeared.  She cocked her head and gazed down at the broad chart. 

<I have called the Pack to stand with us,> she signed.  <This… this is a drawing of the ground here?>

<Yes,> Owen said. 

“Does she know what this is?”  Guerrero asked Owen. 

“Yeah, she knows a map when she sees one,” Owen said. 

Guerrero beckoned her over with one hand, and she slid in on his other side. 

"We are here," Guerrero said.  He rested his finger on a point on the map.  “This line here is the river;  the falls are here.  Airstrip, here.  Elevations… dry stream beds."

“All right,” the Town Clerk said.  “So far, we know that the fire is here, and here, and here…”

“And here,” Flavio said.  “And _here._ ” 

Guerrero picked up a pencil and drew a series of bold black Xs across the map.  It was his map, Owen supposed, he could write on it if he wanted to.  “Here… here, here, here, here.  And across the river, here and here.” 

Guerrero stood back. 

"Lovely," Owen said.  "We're surrounded."

There was a brief silence. Everyone stared down at the crescent of Xs across the map.  The fire looped around the western side of the town, on both sides of the river.  Owen didn't need to look up at the steeple weathercock, to know that the breeze would eventually send the fire down around the town.  They had nowhere to go; there weren't enough boats to evacuate the whole town. 

StripeSide snarled, her eyes narrow, her slit pupil travelling across the surface of the  map.  Owen didn’t even need to look down to know that her killing-claws were tapping the dirt of the square.  

“This village – here,” Owen said, reaching out and resting his fingertip on the map, just short of the line of Xs.  “There are people living there?” 

 _“Si,”_ Guerrero said.  “Magdalena.  A few families.” 

"We'll need to get them out of there," Owen said. 

There was now a group of people standing around the map, looking down.  Humans and raptors had come together, now.  BentTail, SilverNose, and YellowSnake - the other alpha raptors - had arrived, and they were looking down at the map as well.  The town council were here, now.  The Andaqui leader, and the shaman;  Malcolm and Grant, Jorge, Victoria and Juana were here.  Maggie and Roy were pushing their way in as well.  The map was ringed on all sides. 

Owen leaned on the table and looked around.   “It’s not a fire front,” Owen said.  “Not yet, anyway.  We can stand and fight it in pieces.  But this village here – we protect that, first.  Saving people’s homes is more important than trees.” 

“Do you know anything about firefighting?” the Town Clerk challenged.

“Yeah,” Owen said, meeting her gaze squarely.  “I’ve fought forest fires before.  I spent summers on my grandfather’s ranch, and I learned how to work a fire-line.  I'm not a professional, but I've done this before.” 

 _“Si,”_ Guerrero said.  “Owen, you can take the first crew.  Go out to Magdalena.  Protect the houses.  I’ll send the second crew, _here._   And the third, _here_.  Don’t get cut off…” 

"I'll come with you," Alan Grant said. 

"You don't have to."

"Think I do," Grant said. "Spent my career in Montana. I know fires." 

Owen nodded.  "All right." 

Jorge was translating for the raptor alphas.  StripeSide turned her long head down to the map, and snarled at it. 

“Radios?” Owen asked.  “We need to stay in touch.” 

“Martin has them…” 

Owen turned to StripeSide.  <We go now,> he signed, but he was interrupted. 

There was a sudden shout.  Owen turned around.

Scott and Stonebridge were walking into the square.  They were pushing a man in front of them. 

 _“Hola,_ Guerrero!  We’ve brought you a present!”  Scott shouted. 

“We caught them at it,” Stonebridge said.  He shoved his prisoner, hard.  The man stumbled forward, and Owen recognised Julian. His hands were tied in front of him, and his face was bloody, but Owen would recognise Julian anywhere. 

Owen pushed off from the table, aware that StripeSide was spinning toward the prisoner as well.

“You son of a bitch!” Owen said.  He marched to meet Julian.  "What the hell have you done?" 

Owen hadn’t thought he would see Julian again.  Julian was one of Pedro’s men.  He had been the only one other than Pedro himself to survive the long hunt through the forest, when StripeSide had paid a ransom in human blood to get Owen back.  Julian had escaped with Pedro in the boat, and they had found refuge with La Leona. 

StripeSide hissed, stalking forward, her jaws open in threat. 

"He was starting fires," Scott said.  "We shot the others.  Took this asshole alive." 

“You son of a bitch,” Owen said again. 

Julian’s hands were tied behind his back, but he stared back with the leer of a born psychopath. He looked completely unafraid of the consequences of what he’d done.  “You can’t stop this,” Julian said to Owen.  “None of you can stop this.  You can fight, but La Leona will win in the end.  They’ll run away, because they’re animals.”

“You are wrong,” Guerrero said.  “They’re not running away.  We’re standing together, and La Leona is finished.” 

StripeSide hissed, her jaws bared.  BentTail and YellowSnake had moved to flank her. 

Owen signed to her,  <He thinks you will run away, because that is what an animal would do.>

<I should kill him,> she said.  Her killing claws flexed.  <Because that is what an animal would do.>

<He expects you to kill him, and he cares not.> 

“What’s her plan?” Guerrero askes.  “Fires?  Is she so mad that she would destroy the whole town just to get her way?  Is that your boss’s plan?” 

“I’m not telling you anything,” Julian leered.  “And – oh, look, it’s Maggie!  Hello, Beautiful!  We should have raped you while we had the ch – !” 

He didn’t have the time to finish, because Scott swung the butt of his rifle and slammed it into his stomach.

Julian folded down with a croak, and lay on the ground, coughing, and laughing.  The heavy hit didn’t seem to have intimidated him.  “Your pets are all dead,” he cackled.  “They’ll run away, and they’ll _burn.”_

“Kill him?” Stonebridge suggested, his eyes on Guerrero, the foresight of his AR-15 hovering over Julian.   

“No, no, no!” Guerrero said, waving one hand.  “Take him away, and lock him somewhere safe!” 

 _“Safe,”_ Flavio said, smugly.  “I have a safe.  An actual _safe._   He can sit in it, and think.” 

<We will lock him up,> Jorge signed. 

<We cannot kill him,> BentTail said.  <That is the law of TravelsOverWater!> 

StripeSide hissed.  <I agree.  Lock him up, and keep him alive, and attend to him when we have time.  We will have his mind … he will tell us what he knows of the Lioness, when we ask.> 

“StripeSide agrees,” Owen said to Guerrero, and then to Stonebridge.  “I want to shoot this dick as much as you do, but keep him alive.” 

“Try to escape, asshole,” Scott muttered.  He and Stonebridge reached down, and grabbed Julian under his elbows and heaved him back up to his feet.  “Go on, try to escape.” 

<We go,> Owen said. 

<I will come with you,> StripeSide said.  <I will keep JaguarPaw here so that we can keep in contact.  BentTail, you will go to the second team.  And you, YellowSnake!  You will go with the third team.>  She signed her orders so that the humans could know what she was deciding. 

“Virgilio, we’re going.  Martin, the radio?” 

"Stay safe!" Guerrero said.

"We will," Owen promised.  <Let us go,> he signed to StripeSide. 

* * *

 

Owen reached the little village of Magdalena.  He paused to catch his breath and get his bearings.  They had rushed out here as fast as they could.  This close to the fire, the smoke was not a smear in the distance, but a three-dimensional pillar, rising high into the sky.  The reek of burning wood prickled the back of his nose. 

Owen was carrying a helmet on his head, and a Pulaski hanging from his belt.  Behind him, the townsmen (and two women) had marched with whatever digging tools they could carry.  Three of them carried three of the precious five-gallon hand pumps, strapped to their backs. 

StripeSide and a raptor of BentTail’s pack were close behind him, heads down.  They were a lot closer to the fire than either of them liked.  He could see how anxious they were, by the tightness of their movements, but they were still coming.  The Alpha raptor could not afford to show fear, StripeSide  told him.  She could not expect her pack to stand resolutely behind her if she herself was not resolute. 

The village was a tiny scattering of thatch-roofed huts, deep in the forest.  Pig farmers, Owen guessed.  The pigs had already fled. Wise pigs. 

They were met by a couple of women, waving, their children clinging to them.  “There’s a fire!” the first one called. 

“We know, that’s why we’re here!” Owen shouted.  “Where are your husbands?”  He could see only women and children, and one old dowager on a cane. 

“Trying to put it out!”  She turned and pointed to the stand of tall trees, just beyond the thatch.  “It came out of nowhere!” 

“It was arson!” Owen said.  “Rico, Miguel, Martin, Doctor Grant! Go that way!” 

Miguel waved, and struck off into the brush beyond the houses.  

“Madam,” Owen said to the woman.  “Take your kiddies, and get them to town.” 

“These are our homes!” she said, stubbornly. 

“Your family is more important than your home,” Owen snapped.  “This place is not safe!  Take what you have to, and get out.”

“My husband is still there…!” 

“Mine too, and my brothers!” another woman said, this one holding a baby. 

“We’ll find them, and tell them where you are!”  Owen said.  “But you need to go.  Round everyone up, tell them you need to evacuate.  It’s not safe here any more! The fire is too close!” 

He spotted an empty trough.  He sprang for it, kicked it over, and jumped onto it.  

“Listen to me!” he shouted.  “This is _not_ the only fire!  There is another north of you, and another south.  And there are more across the river!  You have fire on both sides of you.  This place is not safe!  Take the kids!  And the old people!   Pack up your things and move!  Twenty minutes, no more!” 

“Twenty minutes,” one of the men on Owen’s team said.  “I’ll stay here and make sure they’re on the road in twenty minutes.” 

“Yeah, you do that,” Owen said.  “Listen to me!  _Go!_ Better safe than sorry!  We’ll fight, but you need to go, now!  All right!  You four, stay here, and pull down all the thatch – yes, all of it!  All down!  Wet it if you can!  The rest of you, follow me!”    

He jumped down off the trough, grabbed his Pulaski from his belt, and jogged after Eduardo and Miguel.  

StripeSide had been watching FirstHuman. 

Her human was shouting his orders, collecting his men, and directing them here and there.  She was struck by the vitality in her bond-mate’s bloodheat.  It was like watching a cloak drop off him.  His head was up, his eyes and his commanding gestures went everywhere.  His voice had become a crisp snap. 

He was himself again, she realized.  This was the FirstHuman she remembered.  This was the man of action, who had led the men to hunt down the Mad Giant Person.  This was the alpha who had strutted around the cage on the Island of Clouds. 

Even as she watched him, he whirled around to face her, and saw her watching him.  <Follow!> he commanded with an imperative snap of his elbows. 

<I follow!> she signed back, and jogged after him as he plunged along the path behind the cluster of houses. 

Owen could hear the fire before he saw it.  First the smoke grew dense around them, veiling everything in shades of brown.  A moment later they were in a deep black-and-white world. 

He met the six men from Magdelena, coming back to meet them.  Their faces were wet with sweat, and streaked with soot already. 

“It’s too hot,” one of them said. "There's no chance!"

“We’re going to fight it together,” Owen said.  “We’re going to dig a fire-line, if we can.  Contain it, and let it die out.” 

He walked forward, until he could feel the glare of heat on his face.  He climbed up a slight rise, and there the fire was.  It was coming uphill to meet him, like a brilliant lake just beyond the trees. 

The fire was flooding along the ground, streaming upward like rivers, making its way across the leaf-litter.  Pools of flame were rippling at the feet of the trees.  The flames were lapping and reaching up the trees, biting down on the thick trunks, turning the trees into towers of flame.  Ferns and lianas were sparkling as they burned.  He could feel the heat on his face, as it sucked up the fuel of the dry forest.   

“God,” he said, aloud, falling back. 

“We’re not putting _that_ out with a few spades of sand!” Alan Grant shouted.

“No!” Owen agreed.  “Get back!” 

“What about the fire line?” 

“No chance, there’s no time!  It's coming too fast."

“Spot-fire here!” Martin  shouted, spotting a smouldering fern and leaping on it to stamp it out.  Joaquin was there with the nozzle of his pump, spraying on the blaze, and Owen swung away. 

Another sudden sparkle of flame, already blackening the grass.  Another spot-fire, in advance of the main fire.  Owen leaped at it. 

There was a shriek.  He turned to see StripeSide pirouetting wildly.  A fiery spark had landed on her back.  She was trying to reach back and snap it off with her teeth.

“Blue!” Owen yelled.  He leaped at her, but she didn’t stop spinning.  She whinnied in shock and pain, her teeth still trying to snap at her own hip.  He threw herself on her, colliding with her, and as she pirouetted he beat out the flaming spark with his glove.  Her violent spinning sent him stumbling. 

“Let's take a look,” he chanted.  That was the phrase he used in Jurassic World to tell them he was going to treat them.  He pulled his water-bottle, and started unscrewing the cap.  “Let’s take a look, let’s take a look!”

She recognised it, because she stopped thrashing.  The wound was a tiny red mark, but she was panting in distress as if it was a mortal wound.  <Pain!> she signed.  <Too hot!  Understand not!> 

“It’s all right!”  He reached out a hand for her back, the water-bottle in the other.  He could feel the tremors of shock in her muscles.  “It’s all right,” he said, and slopped water over her hide. 

She screamed as if she’d been shot, and sprang away.  She whirled to face him, and screamed back at him.  Her slit pupils were blown wide in distress and she was panting.  <I am too hot!> 

<You are not too hot.  Only that little place is too hot!> 

<Only little?>  She twisted her head around to stare at her own hip. 

<I can pour more water!>   Owen offered. 

 ** _< NO!>_**  She backed up her refusal with an outraged scream.  <Too cold!  Stupid human!>  She backed away from him. 

She was already forgetting about the pain, if he was a stupid human.  He wanted to put his arms around her head and apologise, but she wasn’t in a cuddling mood.  She screamed at him, furious, as if her burn was his fault. 

“Is she all right?” Owen turned.  It was the other raptor’s bond-mate, from BentTail’s pack. 

“Yeah, just a little burn.”

“Burns can kill them,” the other man said urgently.  “Their heat sense can’t cope!” 

“Owen!” Grant grabbed his elbow, and pointed upward. 

There were sparks flying overhead, tiny sparks high in the air like lit cigarettes.  They twinkled and twirled against the smoke.  The firebrands were flying over his position. 

StripeSide looked up as well, and screamed.  <They burn hot still!> 

“Those trees back there are sending out firebrands!” Owen shouted. 

“It’s going to catch behind us!” 

Owen spun around, raising his voice.  “Disengage, disengage!” he yelled.  “Pull back.  Get out of there!  We gotta go!” 

“What about this fire!”

“We’re going to get cut off here!” Owen whooped, waving his hands.  “It’s moving too fast!  Grant!  Francisco!  Rico!  Pull back!  Call Miguel and the others!  We gotta go!” 

“Owen!” Eduardo called, grabbing him.  He was waving the radio.  “It’s the second team!  They have been outflanked!  They’re pulling out!” 

“Tell them we’ve outflanked too, and we’re pulling out!” 

As they neared the village, they could see that they hadn’t had a chance of saving it.  Other sparks of burning leaves had flown down around them.  Fires were sparking in the thatch.  Pulling the thatch off the roofs hadn’t worked, because the thatch was heaped on the ground, and now the sparks were licking at it. 

One of the men Owen had left to defend the village ran out to meet him.  “I’m sorry, we couldn’t stop it!”  

The men with the other hand-pumps were still trying to put it out. 

“Leave it!” Owen shouted at the men with the pumps.  “It’s no good!  Leave it.  We gotta get out of here!” 

He could see other firebrands flying even further.  They were landing in the trees beyond the village.  They were going to start spot-fires there, too, behind Owen’s team.  

If they let the fire jump over them, they would be trapped.  The only way back to town was down that road.  The village could still be saved, if he concentrated his men on saving the houses, and only the houses.  If – if – but that _if_ was not worth the risk of keeping them here.  The fire would close off their only avenue of escape.  No!  Houses could be rebuilt.  His first duty was to his men. 

There was a shout.  The fire had touched a tall tree, right on the edge of the village, and the flames had exploded into the canopy.  The tree was candling; flames wrapping up the trunk like a may-pole, curling and crackling into the sky. The tree was tall, but the fire was taller, the waving top of the fire lashing against the sky. 

Owen saw StripeSide flinch, huddling instinctively against the ground.  Her eyes were fixed on the tree. “Blue!” 

Her head snapped to him. 

<Shout to the third team’s dinosaurs!  Tell them we are pulling back!  It is too dangerous here!  Tell them to return to the town!>

She blinked at him, her golden eyes flickering.  She seemed lost in her own fear. 

There was no time for her to go into a fire-induced funk.  _“Blue!”_ Owen barked, and marched toward her, smacking his palms together.  “Eyes on me!” 

She jerked at his shout, and shook herself.  She unclenched her locked talons.  <I obey,> she signed, her head and neck snaking. 

The nearest house took light.  There was no warning; the dry wicker wall simply erupted.  The glow of gold swarmed up the wall, and immediately attacked the roof, as if it was in a hurry.  The bloom of heat blasted his face.  Owen raised his hand, fending his face from the heat.  He wanted to spin and run for it, but he was responsible for his team first. 

His men and women were streaming back to him, running, now that they could all see that the village was lost.  “Is that everybody?”  Owen said, counting as they came.  Four, five, six, the twins, nine, ten, eleven, and Dr Grant.  “Houses are all empty?” 

“Yes, that’s everybody.  The villagers have gone. I checked.”  

“What’s happening?”

“The fire got past the second team, it’s flashed over!” Owen snapped.  “We’ve gotta go, _now!_   Come on!  Go, go, go!” 

The fire was licking up the mud walls of the nearest house as Owen led his team down the road.  The house’s front door was a black portal to hell, jambed with curls  of flame.  The smoke was thick.  The village was gone.  No power on earth could save it now. 

They’d succeeded, in one sense.  It was a victory.  With the speed that the fire had moved, the villagers would not have gotten out in time without them.  No-one had been trapped, no-one was injured.  Still, as Owen left the flaming walls behind, it didn’t _feel_ like much of a victory. 

He ran, gasping for breath.  The smoke was thick, driven ahead of the fire by the wind.  It muted the sun.  There was a curtain of smoke against Grant’s back.  He turned to look behind him.  StripeSide was there, jogging after him, curtained in smoke.  She could outrun him in a second. 

<Run ahead!> he commanded.  

<Leave you, not!>

<Run!  I command it!> 

She needed no second order.  She burst into speed, exploding past him like a racehorse, and the other raptor followed her.  They disappeared into the smoke, their tails bobbing behind them, and leaned into the turn like flightless birds. 

“Come on!” Owen yelled to the men behind him, and they ran after the two velociraptors. 

The road linked with a wider track that ran to the river, and there they met the second team, and the trucks that belonged the farmers’ co-op. The Magdalena villagers were already packed onto the bigger truck

“Come on!”  a man on the back of the nearer truck yelled, banging his hands on the tailgate.

Owen threw himself into the truck, and lurched back around on hands and knees to haul the men behind him after him.  He grabbed Grant by the arms, and pulled the old palaeontologist up, tools and all.  The truck was already moving.  Owen was stood on, and thrown around, and squeezed.  They all crammed onto the back of the truck, and then the engine was complaining as the driver thrust it into gear.  

The road wound back to town down the dirt road.  The truck ran this route most days of the week, but not usually so fast.  Owen was thrown around.  He gripped the side of the truck with his hands. 

Opposite him, Eduardo decided to light a cigarette, oblivious to the irony.  Owen laughed at him, and his friends joined in. 

“Isn’t this hot enough for you?”  Martin joked. 

“He’s a Gutierrez,” someone said.  “All that family is _loco.”_   There was spatter of laughter on the back of the truck. 

And then, the truck swung left, taking the turn at speed, and the laughter died away.  Owen could feel the heat of the fire, even here.  The fire had moved so fast!  It was close.  It was _damn_ close.  He met Eduardo’s gaze, and saw the man had sobered up.  The laughter had dribbled off into silence. 

There were dabs of fire in the bushes along the road, and suddenly the truck was driving through dense smoke.  Owen ducked his head down, trying not to make it too terribly obvious that he was cringing.  The sun darkened.  The light turned a strange amber colour, as if they had driven into a full solar eclipse.  Owen turned his head, sheltering his eyes with one hand, and the other pick-up truck was close behind them.  Its headlights glowed dully through the curtain of smoke. 

He saw a tongue of fire flicker alongside the side of the truck and out of sight.  The fire had leaped over them, and it was already close to the side of the road.   So close!  Too close!  He’d pulled his men out with only a naked sliver of time left!  So close!  The driver was gunning the engine as fast as he dared.  The truck was hammering as the suspension ate the road, and there was a grim silence on the back of the pick-up truck.  A grim silence, and intense concentration, and heads bowed.  Each one was alone in his quiet dread. 

A second later, it was as if the truck had driven from winter into summer.  The sun came out all around them. 

Owen pulled his head up, swinging to look behind them.  They’d driven out into a clear field.  The bank of smoke was receding behind them.   There was still a large fire behind them, but they were out.  They were racing to safety!  The air gushed out of him with relief. 

“Whoo-hoo!” someone on the back of the truck hollered. 

“Yes!  Yes!” 

“That was close!” 

“You still want your cigarette, eh, Eduardo?” 

“Screw you, that wasn’t hot, your mother is hot!” 

“That was _awesome!”_  

Young men, and idiots.  They were laughing wildly as if they’d just dived out of an aeroplane.  Owen heard himself laughing with them. 

His heart was hammering, but with fright or relief he couldn’t say.  They’d made it, and now that they were safe they could all laugh at the fact that they had all been  frightened.  They were alive, and the air was sweet and light, as if inhaling would make them float away. 

“Hey, hey!”  Grant next to him banged on his shoulder, and pointed alongside the truck. 

They’d caught up to the velociraptors.  “Hello, beautiful!” Owen yelled, twisting around to see StripeSide.    

StripeSide’s long legs were still reaching out for distance.  Her claws clapped the earth at each stride.  She was running alongside the pick-up truck, head-down, tail-up.   Owen turned on his perch and waved his hand at her so that she saw him. 

<Did you see that?> he signed. 

<Afraid, I am!>  She cocked her head at him but kept her head down, and she kept the last word clutched in her rigid talons.  She was still sprinting alongside the pick-up truck, effortlessly keeping pace. 

<That was good fun!> he signed. 

She cocked her head up.  <Fun?> she signed.  < How can you laugh?  This is not for laughing!> 

<We laugh, because we survived!> he signed.  <Because it feels good to be alive!> 

<Not to be laughing!  Mad, you all are!>  She put her head down and accelerated.  She sprinted around the front of the truck, and he lost sight of her. 

He turned back to the others in the back of the truck.  “She doesn’t know why we’re laughing!” 

“I hope you told her it’s because Eduardo dropped his cigarette!” Martin said, laughing wildly. 

* * *

 

They got back to the town in one piece, and Owen jumped off the back of the pick-up truck.  He left his team behind, and headed straight uphill to the town square, where Guerrero had set up his command centre.

StripeSide had already plunged into the centre of the group of raptors.  She was lashing out and snapping her teeth.  It looked like a feeding frenzy at Jurassic World, but he knew she was giving orders.  She was the queen raptor, and the whole pack would be looking to her for their courage.  She’d faced down the fire and come back in one piece. 

“Owen!” Guerrero said. 

Owen went up to the table.  “It’s not good, Virgilio.”  He leaned his elbows on the table.  “It’s too entrenched – too hot, too much fuel.  We couldn’t save Magdalena.  It’s gone.” 

“The people?” 

“They got out,” Owen said.  "But it was a close-run thing." 

“We’ve got firefighters coming from Florencia,” Guerrero said,  “but they probably won’t get here until tomorrow.  We’re on our own until then.”

StripeSide arrived at Owen’s side, with BentTail and YellowSnake.  They all looked down at the map, although Owen knew that only StripeSide knew what she was looking at. 

“We can’t fight this one the old way,” Owen said.  He moved aside, as the leader of the second team came up and stood next to him.  “It’s just burning too hot.” 

“At least the wind is not strong today,” Guerrero said, looking up at the branches of the trees. 

“We need a helitack,” Owen said.  “Smoke-jumpers.  Aerial bombing, from a Bambi bucket.  The old way just isn’t fast enough!” 

“Ah,” Flavio snapped his fingers.  “We’ve got a Bambi bucket at the airstrip!”

“You’ve got one?” Owen said.  “Well, what are you waiting for?  Hitch it to a helicopter, and let’s go!” 

“We don’t have a helicopter.” 

“God.”  Owen set his elbows on the map, and leaned his forehead against his fists.  “ _Why_ do you have a Bambi bucket, and not a helicopter?” 

“Because Miguel Gomez took it,” Guerrero said crisply.  He straightened his back and stared at Owen.  “It was purchased by the Town Council, and he took it.  And _now_ is not the time for arguing about the past.  We have other business now.”  

Owen raised his hands, conceding the point.  He’d seen only a little of what the Gomez cartel could do.  The Gomez family took what they wanted.  Nobody stood in their way and lived. 

“Sorry,” he said. 

“It’s nothing.”  Guerrero picked up his pen, and bent over the map.  “All right.  So the fire is here, and here, and here?”

“Yes,” the second team’s leader said.  His finger met Guerrero’s pen on the map.  “And it’s forming one front, all along here.  We got outflanked, but we were able to warn One and Three just in time.” 

“The fires are merging into one, on this side of the river,” Owen said.  “Here, and _here._   We nearly got cut off again, right here.”  He set his forefinger on the bend in the road.  “We can’t fight it piecemeal, or we’ll be cut off again.”

“We can’t put it out,”  Guerrero nodded.  “We’ll have to dig fire-lines.  We’ll dig all the way around the western side of town.”  He ran his finger all around his proposed line.

“We need to anchor the line,” Owen said.  “A firebreak needs a strong, firm anchor, or it can be outflanked.” 

“Here, on the rocks,” Guerrero said.  He looked around the table, making sure they all saw where he was pointing.  “And the other side, here, on the river.  The fire will not jump the river, it is too wide.” 

"It is going to be a race," the second leader said. 

"Then the sooner we start, the better," the third team leader said.  

“I’ll take the river end teams, get them started,” Owen said.  He looked up at the other team leaders.  “You good to take the rocks?” 

“I’ll take the rocks.” 

“Then I’ll take the river,” Owen agreed, and the meeting broke up. 

* * *

 

Damien Scott and Michael Stonebridge had followed Owen Grady’s team to the river bank.  Now they were chopping out the fire-line, under his direction.  

Grady had explained quickly.  Heat, oxygen, and fuel, he said.  The triangle of fire, and this fire had all three.  The only way of putting it out – without water – would be to deprive it of fuel until it starved out.  “So we dig a line around the village.  We dig right down to the soil, and we pull down any trees that can feed it.  Anything that can burn, we chop it down or rip it out.  Got that?” 

They got it. 

“Keep together, and don’t let any of you wander off.  And if anyone gets sick, bring them out right away.  Smoke inhalation is not a joke!  Pay attention to the crew boss.  And pay attention to the raptors!” he added.  “They can sense things you can’t.  Work together, and we’ll win this!  All right!  Let’s go!” 

They worked in a line, spaced a yard apart, working from one side to the other.  As each man chopped up the ground, he took a step to his right, and his place was immediately filled by the next in line.  Chop, dig, chop.  Hack up the saplings, and throw them back.  Rend the roots, turn over the soil.  Chop, dig, chop.  Step sideways, repeat.   Chop, dig, chop.  Step sideways, repeat.  

The ground was dry, casting clouds of dust from the leaf-litter.  It got into the eyes and dried out the throat.  It was backbreaking work, an endless unrewarding grind, until you looked up from your Pulaski, and remembered where you were. 

Fire fighting was about as glamorous as growing potatoes.  The pride came after, when you’d won.  They were still a long way from winning here – and it seemed they were losing ground at every minute.  The fire was coming closer.  The breeze was pushing it onward. 

God.  Scott _hated_ fire.   He could already smell the reek of wood smoke on the air. 

He bent his back over the handle of his shovel.  It was back-breaking work, hand-blistering work.  Everyone could smell the smoke, but there was no way to hurry the work.  The line was cut deep, or it was useless.  This was old-style fire fighting, the way it had been done it all over the West for a hundred years. Was it better than combat, or worse, he wondered?

Better, he decided; infinitely better. 

“Out of the way!”  someone shouted.  “Coming down!” 

Scott straightened up, to check that the tree coming down was nowhere near him. 

“Here it comes!  Coming down!”  someone yelled. 

There was a groan, and a deep crackling like a giant’s knuckles.  A tree on Scott’s  right was moving, twisting.  It fell reluctantly, but accelerated as gravity pulled on its weight until it slammed into the ground so hard it bounced.  The thrashing branches looked as if the tree was fighting back, as if it wasn’t ready to submit to the horizontal. 

“On it!” someone shouted, plunging through the fallen branches to the trunk.  The chain-saw began to howl again, as he started dicing away the greenery from the tree.   The branches had to be stripped off; the log had to be dragged away.  They couldn’t leave a scrap of fuel across the line.  By the time the fire got here, this whole strip of earth had to be scraped bare, down to the dirt. 

Scott straightened his back.  He unhooked his water bottle and shook it.  Empty. 

“Going for water,” he banged on Michael’s shoulder.  “Give me your bottle.” 

“Take it,” Michael said, without straightening up. 

Scott snagged the water bottle from Michael’s belt, and turned.  Both bottles were empty.  He ducked behind the line of stooped backs, and started moving down toward the river bank.  There was water there; unfiltered river water, but better than nothing.  He reached the river bank, and saw Grady coming up the bank toward him. 

“Scott,” Grady greeted. 

“Going for water.” 

“No probs,” Grady said, flicking him a thumb’s-up.  He moved past Owen toward a bunch of velociraptors who were towing a long log between them, ready to roll it into the river.  Give ‘em their due, Scott thought; raptors had one _hell_ of a bollard-pull.  They were strong. 

“Hey!” Grady yelled at the raptors.  He started to wave his hands in the flicking dance of Raptor Sign, and walked over to them. 

Scott went down on one knee at the river bank.  He’d started unscrewing the cap of Mikey’s bottle, when he heard the throb of a helicopter. 

He paused on his knee to listen.  A chopper, here?  The sound was rising; it was flying low, and coming closer.  It was flying up the river.  Sounded like a big engine, too.  _Rescue?_  

Owen Grady was braced with his head back, trying to spot the chopper in the sky.  Scott saw his face.  His brows were down.  His eyes were wide, and his mouth was opening further into an expression of shock. 

The hairs lifted on Scott’s neck.  _Wait…_ didn’t someone say Gomez had commandeered the only helicopter?  

 _Hostiles, inbound!_   Scott threw himself forward like a sprinter off a starting block. 

* * *

 

Owen stiffened as the helicopter swung around the bend in the river.  A chill of déjà vu gripped his heart.  He felt his mouth sliding open in shock. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Damien Scott sprinting up the river bank. 

Then the helicopter arrived, sweeping low.  The helicopter was flying very low, its treads barely skimming the treetops.  The prop wash fluffed the river’s surface.  The helicopter’s bay door was open, and he saw a booted foot out on the landing tread, and the barrel of a gun. 

“Shit!” he shouted, and threw himself into a run.  “EYES ON ME!” he roared.  He started running for the raptors, waving his hands.

He saw humans and raptors jerk their heads around to stare at him, and he waved his arms frantically.  <Dive!> he signed.  <Now, now, now!> 

BentTail cottoned on first.  His long head lifted from Owen’s weird behaviour to the helicopter.  _Blink, blink._   He dropped the rope and screamed at his fellows, and a second later all of them were sprinting to the river.  Owen kept running.  He saw a flicker of darkness hit the mud right at BitterTooth’s tail.  And another alongside BentTail, then BentTail left the ground in a leap and hit the river on his belly.  The surface of the river was exploding with raptors arriving in it. 

Humans were running in all directions, but the shooter up there in the helicopter wasn’t shooting at _them._   Owen whirled, the wash whipping at him.  He saw the open door of the helicopter, and the barrel of the gun leaning out.  

“You son of a bitch!” Owen roared, shaking his fists at the belly of the helicopter.  He remembered being shot down just like that.  He roared his fury, and then a greater roar swamped his voice so that he was shouting in a thunderstorm. 

He spun around. 

Damien Scott was just up the river bank, his AR-15 braced to his hip.  He was firing up into the sky, his teeth bared, brass spiralling down over his shoulder.  Owen saw his mouth move in a soundless scream of _FUCK YOU!_  

The gun barrel in the helicopter jerked out of alignment as the heavy bullets of the AR-15 found the narrow cabin.  Bullets must have been buzzing inside the cabin like hornets.  The helicopter peeled away, frantically putting altitude between it and the rifle fire.  The pilot didn’t like being shot at. 

“Fuck you!” Scott screamed up at it. 

Owen spun around to the river.  There were no raptors in sight now – just the roiled surface of the water rolling away.

“They’re shooting at the raptors!” Carlo shrieked at Owen. 

“I think those were darts!”  Owen ran down the river bank, to where BentTail had dived into the river.  Something glittered on the mud and he bent and scooped it up. 

It was a dart.  A glass vial gleamed on the tail. 

People were closing in on Owen.  Scott was in the lead, still clutching the AR-15. 

Owen raised the dart.  “Some kind of dart,” he said,  and snapped the glass in his fingers.  A sweet smell struck his nostrils, and he jerked back.  “Avocathan!”  he snapped. 

He knew what was going on now!  This was why Thornton was here!  Thornton still had his InGen contacts.  He must have got his hands on a supply of the poison – and La Leona had a helicopter. 

“Avocathan?” Stonebridge asked.  Scott was backing up, his rifle still aimed in the direction the helicopter had gone.  A few scaly heads were popping up out of the river.  They watched the helicopter peel away into the distance. 

“Smell that?” Owen raised the dart.  “It’s poison!  Avocado-based.  It’s a poison for dinosaurs.  Avocado kills dinosaurs – but it’s harmless to humans.” 

So that was Thornton’s plan – that was the attack that Grant had warned them about!  Set fire to the forest, drive the raptors where he wanted them – then use La Leona’s helicopter and InGen’s poison to shoot them.  The sheer murderous intent of it made the rage shudder through his whole body.  

“They’re trying to kill the raptors!” Carlo moaned, shocked.  “ _Dios Mio!_ ”    He turned away, and signed, <My beautiful chicken!  Please!  Tell me you are not hurt!>    

A few of the raptors were pulling themselves out of the river to join them, water and mud streaming off their hides.  <I am not hurt!> BitterTooth signed. 

Owen was relieved to see BitterTooth all right.  He was one of the friendliest raptors around; it was as if he had kept his hatchling playfulness into his adult life.  He and Carlo were a good pair. 

“They’ll be back,” Stonebridge said. 

Owen turned on his heels.  His eyes went up to the smoky sky, in the direction the helicopter had gone.  If the raptors ran, there was only one way they could go – to the logged landscape west of the town, and there the helicopter would outrun them, and shoot them.

“Tell Virgilio to open the armoury,” Owen said.  “We’re going to need guns… lots of guns.  Everywhere there are raptors, _someone_ must have a gun.” 

“Fighting a battle on two fronts,” Scott said.  “Fan-fuckin’-tastic.” 

“No help for it,” Owen said. 

“Have you got enough guns to go around?”  Scott asked. 

“This is Colombia,” Carlo said.  “Everybody’s got guns.”

“Wait,” Stonebridge said.  “That chopper.  I heard someone say that you fellows have a Bambi bucket, but no helicopter. 

“Gomez took it,” Carlo said, bitterly. 

“Well, there’s a helicopter,” Stonebridge said, pointing at the sky. 

“That’s probably the same helicopter,” Owen said.  “They use it for heavy deliveries at the villa.” 

“Hey, Scott?” Stonebridge said, looking at his partner.  “What do you say?” 

“Great minds think alike,” Scott said.  “Fuck, yeah!  Let’s do this!” 

“What are you thinking?”  Owen asked. 

“You can’t fight this fire without a helicopter,” Stonebridge explained.  “You need a helicopter.  There’s a helicopter.  Why don’t we go get it?” 

“La Leona won’t just _give_ you her helicopter!”  Owen said.   

“Ha,” Scott bared his teeth in a fierce grin.  “She’s not going to give it to us.  We’re going to _take_ it.”

“That’s insane,” Jorge said.  “You can’t take on the entire cartel all by yourself.” 

“Watch us,” Scott said. 

“It has to land somewhere to refuel,” Stonebridge said.  “And we know where it’ll land – at the Gomez villa.  And nine gets you ten the pilot won’t want to fly at night.  He’ll land at nightfall, and we’ll be there waiting for him.” 

“Wait,” Owen said, not convinced.  “How are you going to bring it back?” 

“Scott can fly a helicopter,” Stonebridge said.   

“You can?” Owen asked. 

“Yeah,” Scott said.  “But we’ll need a guide.  Someone who knows their way through the mines.” 

“The Clouds know the way,” Owen said.  “They’ve been up and down, watching the villa.”   He turned around, his eyes going to the nearest raptor. 

<BitterTooth!  I command!  Find the Clouds!  All three of them!  They are needed now!> 

<I go!> BitterTooth declared, and leaped away. 

“Carlo,” Owen turned to him.  “Go and find Flavio.  Find the Bambi bucket, bring it out, get it ready.  Come on!”  he gestured to the two soldiers.  “Let’s go tell Guerrero we’ve got a plan to fetch the chopper!” 

* * *

 

 Carlo was right.  There was a selection of weapons to pick from, locked away in the Town Hall.  Guerrero sent the Clerk to open it for them.

“Where did all this come from?” Scott asked, when the cupboard was opened, revealing a row of weapons, and boxes of ammunition.    

Owen looked around.  “Spoils of war.  It belonged to La Leona’s men.” 

"Fuck me," Scott said, raising an AK47, and staring at the battered wooden grips.  "The Forties called; they wants their gun back." 

“ _These_ people took on La Leona’s men, and won?” Stonebridge asked, surprised. 

“Not exactly,” Owen said.  “La Leona’s men took on the raptors.  The raptors won.”  It was a flippant way to describe what had happened.  Monsters of nightmare walked in the rainforest at night, Jorge had said to Owen once.  Pedro and his gang had found out the truth.  “There’s a _reason_ La Leona’s people don’t come here any more.”

Stonebridge reached into the cupboard and started taking out boxes of ammunition that his AR-15 could fire.  There were three spare magazines there, and he took them all. 

Damien Scott had found a box of flares.  He picked up a fistful and dumped them into his back-pack.  “I need a packet of note paper,” Scott said.  “And a box of matches, and an elastic band.” 

“What for?”  Owen asked. 

“I want to leave La Leona a message,” Scott said.  “And an airtight plastic bag, if you’ve got one…” 

“I’ll find one,” the Clerk said.  “Need a pen or a pencil?”

“Nope,” Scott said.  “Paper, elastic, matches, sandwich bag.”

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Owen said.   

He’d barely reached the square, when he heard a commotion coming up the road.  There was a pick-up truck racing into the square; the old one with the trashed piston rings. It pulled up outside the hospital in a cloud of smoke, and the men in the back started jumping down.  They dropped the tailgate, and someone sprinted into the hospital. 

There was a loud equine cry.

“Oh, God, no.”  Owen started running.  He knew that sound.  He ran, hoping against hope, but he could already see the mound of grey hide on the back of the truck.  He ran up and looked over the sides of the pick-up. 

“BitterTooth!” he shouted. 

BitterTooth was lying on his side, on the back of the truck.  He was crying, and thrashing his head and neck up and down.  A bright red gash glistened against his back. Carlo was with him, trying to steady his jerking head. 

“What happened?” Owen shouted. 

“They went forward to check on the fire,” someone said to him.  “It flashed over and a branch came down.  He pushed Carlo out of the way, but he's got a nasty burn.” 

“Shit!”  Owen jumped up onto the bed of the truck.  BitterTooth was lying on a tarp.  “You!” Owen said.  “Carlo, we're going to move him.  You, pick up that corner!  You too, guys!  Pick him up!  Gently!”  He grabbed a hold over the end of the tarp, and they raised the wounded raptor between them. 

“Got him!”

“Steady that side!” 

“Don’t jolt him against the tail-gate!”

They got him down off the truck, and carried him between them to the steps of the hospital.  BitterTooth was lying on his side, head and tail curled to each other.  He was groaning, as if he had been shrieking but had run out of strength. 

Carlo walked backwards, his hands on BitterTooth’s head.  “It’s going to be all right!” he cried into BitterTooth’s face.  “It’s going to be all right!” 

It wasn’t all right, Owen saw.  The air smelled like roasted chicken.  The smell made the bile rise in his throat.  He’d smelled that smell when Charlie had died in front of him, and when Echo was thrown onto the gas grill.  He’d never been able to eat roast chicken since that night.  Human flesh burning smelled like bacon; dinosaurs, being so nearly avian, smelled like chicken. 

Somersby met them, running.  “Oh, my God.”

“He's got a bad burn!”  Owen said. 

“Okay,” Somersby said.  “Look like a second degree burn only.  We can handle this.” 

“Can you help him?” Carlo raised his face to her. 

“Yes!  Bring him straight inside!” Somersby said.  “Pablito!  Rosa!  We’ve got a yellow-tag patient here!  Clear the surgery, now!” 

Owen and his team carried BitterTooth into the waiting room.  The waiting room was already crowded with smoke-inhalation patients. 

“In here!” Somersby ordered them past them all.  She thrust her patients out of her way.  “In here!  Put him down!  Get out, the rest of you!  Give me room!” 

“Carefully!” Owen said.  “Don’t bump him!”  They managed to get the tarp into the surgery.  “Put him down,” Owen said.  “Gently!  Gently!”  They lowered the tarp to the floor.  BitterTooth made a miserable noise, and his eyes opened. 

Carlo immediately dropped to his knees next to his head.  “BitterTooth!” 

It was as if BitterTooth was waking up.  His claws clutched at the air, his tail lashed, and he kicked frantically with his feet.  He screamed again, at full strength.  He sounded like a terrified horse in agony.  It was a sound Owen had only heard a few times, and it froze his heart.

“Burn salve,” Somersby called.  “Sterile dressings!  Clean water – Rosa!”  She pulled her stethoscope down and pressed it to BitterTooth’s throat.  “His heart is racing.  I need an IV line with fluids, right now!” 

“Coming!” Rosa called. 

BitterTooth rolled.  He thrust his head up and thrashed to right himself.  His claws dashed against the tiles, scrabbling wildly.  He shrieked into Carlo’s face, his steak-knife teeth clattering in agitation.  He was trying to get up, trying to flee his agony. 

“No, stop!” Somersby said.  “Stay down!  Carlo, he must stay down!” 

“BitterTooth!” Carlo threw himself against BitterTooth’s face.  “No, no, no, lie down!” 

BitterTooth sagged again, as if his strength was leaving him.  He lay on the floor, gasping for air.  Blood was everywhere.  His veins pulsed close to the skin, blood flushing between his scales.  Blood was flowing through the raw wound on his back.  

“He’s bleeding,” Rosa said.  “Why is he bleeding?” 

"We'll need to put an IV into him in a minute!" Somersby said.  "Pablito, set one up for me!" 

“BitterTooth!” Carlo cried. 

“Here we go,” Somersby said, kneeling.  She had blue rubber gloves, and a bottle.  “It’s going to be all right.  Here we go, let’s cool that off.  We need to stop the immediate burns before we put some dressings on.”  She tipped water over the burn. 

BitterTooth was scrabbling wildly in agony.  He was thrashing wildly like a mad thing.  Owen’s boot skidded under him, tipping him down to hands and knees. 

“BitterTooth!” Carlo called.  He was down on knees and elbows, right in front of BitterTooth’s face.  “BitterTooth!  Look at me!”

BitterTooth opened his eyes.  His slit pupils focused on his bond-mate’s face and settled there.  For a moment it seemed he was going to sign, but then he thrashed wildly and shrieked.  Owen saw that Somersby had moved the water back over the garish red burns, and was pouring gently.  The flow of water was running over the inflamed hide. 

“There we go,” Somersby said.  “Cold water, draw the burn.  Cold water.  That’s better.” 

There was a shriek behind Owen, as another raptor dived into the room.  It was SnailEater.  He thrust his talons at Somersby, and batted her aside. 

She sprawled.  The water went flying.  

“No!”  Rosa yelled.  “What are you doing?” 

<No water!>  SnailEater signed.  <Too cold!>  He braced over BitterTooth and screamed. 

“We need to cool the burns!” Somersby said, picking herself up.  “Or the tissue damage will carry on!  Owen, tell him!” 

<He says he’s too hot!> SnailEater said.  <No water!  No water!> 

<Yes!> Owen signed, from his knees.  <We know he is too hot!  That is why we must cool him!>

<No!>  SnailEater snarled, as fierce as Owen had ever seen him.  <No!  You must not!  He is too cold!  No water!>  He stood over BitterTooth, and lowered his head over BitterTooth, and screamed full-force at the injured dinosaur.  <His bloodheat falls!> 

“Shit,” Owen said, as he understood. “Somersby, stop!  No more water!  It’s killing him!” 

“We need to cool the burn.”

“SnailEater says his temperature is too cold!  He’s going to collapse.” 

“Collapse?”

“They have conscious control over their own thermoregulation!” Owen said.  “He thinks he’s too hot.  The burn is heating his blood, and his temperature is dropping like a stone, and he’s going into shock!” 

BitterTooth started thrashing again.  He was trying to roll over onto his stomach, trying to thrust his claws under him. 

“No, no, no!” Carlo called, keeping both hands on his head, and trying to press him back down. 

"This is the standard treatment for people with second-degree burns," Somersby snapped. 

"He's not a person with second-degree burns!" Owen said.  "He's a dinosaur!  The standard treatments are all different."

<He bleeds because he is trying to cool down, and he is cooling too fast!> SnailEater signed. <Tell her this!> 

<SnailEater!> Owen said.  <Tell him he’s not burning!  Tell him he can’t cool himself this way!>

<He is in too much pain!  He hears me not!> 

BitterTooth thrashed again, and lay still.  He seemed weaker already.  His rough sides were lifting and dropping with fast pants. 

Somersby reached over and put her stethoscope against his flank.  “Bloody hell, his heart rate!” 

<Make him to sleep!> SnailEater signed.  <Tell her to make him to sleep!  His bloodheat will stabilise!  Then cool his hide!>  

“We need to knock him out!” Owen said. "SnailEater says we need to put him out, and his temperature will stabilise!" 

<Tell her to hurry!> SnailEater dropped down onto his forehands next to BitterTooth.  <Hurry!  His heart races! He fails!> 

Somersby jumped to her feet and ran into the dispensary. 

Her mind was racing.

What to do?  What to do?  She threw open a cupboard.  Knock him out?  What did she have that could knock out a dinosaur?  Morphine?  No.  Barbiturates worked on dinosaurs, right? 

The treatment for second-degree burns was simple - she'd done it a million times.  Cooling, antibiotics, bandages, fluids, oxygen if needed.  Were dinosaurs that different?  She didn't know anything about dinosaurs!  She had only one textbook!  She'd read Harding's Dinosauria, but she couldn't remember anything about treatments for burns other than euthanasia, and that wasn't an option! 

She snatched up Harding’s Dinosauria, and flipped through to the index.  There had to be something in Harding!  There was a table … she ran her finger down it.  There were familiar names there.  Cubic centimetres per kilogram.  For a 200-pound dinosaur, she would need two doses.  She had that. 

She pulled open the steel cupboard, and scrabbled for the right bottles.  She ripped open a packet of syringes, opened the little bottle, dived the needle into the first bottle…

There was a step at the door. 

“Stop,” Owen said.

She turned to look at him. 

“Stop,” Owen said, again. 

He walked in, and leaned both hands heavily on the desk, and bent over.  His head sank low.  He stared fixedly at the rough surface of the desk.  

She didn’t need to ask.  She leaned back against the cupboard, hearing the contents rattle inside. 

Outside, she could hear Carlo, moaning in his grief.  His voice was the only sound. 

“I don’t understand,” she said.  “I don’t understand, he only had second-degree burns!  How?” 

Owen shook his head. 

“Did I just kill my patient?” she asked.  Her face was pale, and slick with sweat.  “Oh, God, Owen.” 

He saw the book open on the desk.  “Harding’s Dinosauria?” 

“I _knew_ it was out of date, Owen, but …” 

“It’s not Harding,” Owen shook his head.  “It's the dinosaurs themselves.  They have dense bones, distributed nervous systems, a completely controlled vascular system.  They can eat up bullets, and keep going.  But fire ... I think fire kills them."   

Owen walked outside. 

BitterTooth’s body lay on its side, motionless and silent.  Carlo was on his knees, curled down against BitterTooth’s head.  He was pressing himself against the dinosaur’s hard scaly face, his arms cradling BitterTooth’s head as if he could hold his raptor back into life. 

SnailEater had sat down against the wall, sagging down onto all fours as if all his strength had left him at once.  Rosa was sitting with her head in her hands. 

“Oh, no.  No, oh, _no-o-o-o_!  Oh, no, no, it can’t be.  I can’t believe it.  It can’t be!  No, you can’t.  No, oh, no, oh no!”  Carlo was rocking BitterTooth’s head, the raptor’s neck moving with each anguished movement. 

The anguish in his voice would stay in Owen’s memory for the rest of his life. 

Carlo's anguish could have been Owen's.  Carlo's loss could have been Owen's.  It could have been StripeSide lying there dead.  She had been close to the fire this afternoon.  Owen had led her close to the fire; she had even been burned slightly on her back.  Carlo's loss could have been Owen's, and it would have been Owen's fault.

Owen pressed his hand to his mouth, and turned away.  He stumbled outside.  

He walked mechanically past the patients, who were silent now.  They knew that something had gone very wrong. 

“The raptor?” someone asked him; a face popping up in front of him out of the blur. 

“He’s dead,” Owen said, unable to focus on the identity behind the face.  He kept stumbling on.  The floor seemed too far away. 

Outside, the air was too hot, and too dry.  His heart burned.  His eyes burned.  He stopped, and looked around. 

There was a ring of fire all the way around the western horizon.  The fire was coming to get the raptors.  And if he didn’t do something about it, they would _all_ die, the way BitterTooth had.  Burns barely bad enough to send a human to the hospital had killed him in a few minutes. 

In his mind’s eye, he saw his own precious StripeSide running from walls of fire.  He saw her rich blue hide reddening in welts.  He saw her thrashing on the floor, bleeding and crying.  If he didn’t _do something,_ his own beautiful burning Blue would die the same way.  Every dinosaur in town would burn.  The tiny flicker of their species would be snuffed out.  His world would have no more velociraptors.  He knotted his fists. 

Scott and Stonebridge were coming toward him. 

Owen’s resolve exploded inside him.  The rage made him want to claw at something, rip at someone with his fists and his boots.  La Leona had made a mistake!  _Now_ it was personal. BitterTooth had been the most friendly and cheerful of all the raptors, and he was dead, because of La Leona. 

He turned in the direction of the two soldiers, and walked faster. “The raptor?” Stonebridge asked, nodding his square jaw toward the front door of the clinic.

“He’s dead,” Owen said.  “We are going to go and fetch that helicopter…”

“We?” Stonebridge asked.

“I’m coming with you,” Owen said. 

“No,” Stonebridge said.  “Your job is here.”

“Screw that,” Owen said.  “You need the Clouds to guide you.  You need someone who can talk to the Clouds – _and_ you need someone who can fight.  I’m the only person in town who can do both.  I’m coming.  This fire killed BitterTooth.  Now it’s personal.” 

Scott and Stonebridge swapped glances, and Scott nodded; a minute gesture. 

“Us three, and the three Clouds,” Owen said.  “If we leave now, we’ll get there before midnight.  We’ll have moonlight to guide us.”  

Stonebridge nodded.  “Right on, mate.  You have a rifle?  Ammo?  Armour?” 

“I’ll fetch it.” 

* * *

 

StripeSide had been co-ordinating with RoundAlpha, ever since FirstHuman had gone down to the river bank.  From up here on the hill, she could hear the songs of the Real People from many thousand-steps around.  The fire was still far away, but not so far that she could not hear them singing to her.  She received their reports constantly, about where they were and what they saw.  

The tables which had been carried outside were covered in rolls of paper.  The board on which she and RoundAlpha wrote was covered with their notation already.  The map was spread out over the table.  RoundAlpha was giving his orders, using his communication devices, and humans and Real People were coming and going constantly around them. 

SmallVoice had taken round plastic playing pieces and written the names of the Real People on it. The pieces were laid across the map, showing where all the Real People were at all times.  StripeSide was moving them with her talon as she heard their reports.  She had come to realize that humans could not grasp and remember their packmates' movements in their minds without a visual reminder; one of those strange lacks they had. 

 The Real People knew where they were at all times, and what was going on, and where all the other Real People were.  The humans knew what they were doing.  They seemed certain of what the fire would do, as if this fire was an living enemy that could be predicted. They worked well together, she thought, sliding the marker with ScarBreast’s name on it from north to south along the fire-line.  She picked up the marker and wrote on the nearest paper. 

SCARBREAST SAYS ALL TREES HERE HAVE TAKEN FIRE NOW, she wrote. 

WHICH WAY IS THE WIND?  RoundAlpha wrote. 

The humans seemed obsessed with the wind speed and direction, as if not smelling the oncoming fire was supremely important.  STILL VERY SLIGHT, FROM WEST.

“Alpha of Alphas!”  a dinosaur said, racing into the square. 

“Yes?”  StripeSide hissed. 

It was one of the youngsters from SilverNose’s pack; eight months old and full of his own importance.  One of SnailEater’s offspring’s offspring, although she wasn’t sure.  His name eluded her.  Feathered-something?  ManyFeathers? 

“It is BitterTooth!” the youngster snapped.  He paused, snaking his head and tail from side to side. 

“He reached the healing-house?” StripeSide asked.  “How does he fare now?”   

“He is dead!” 

StripeSide staggered back.  “What news is this?” 

“He is dead,” the youngster said.  “SnailEater bid me tell you!  He said I should not sing it!” 

“BitterTooth is dead?” SilverNose asked, horrified.  The old dinosaur's bloodheat sank into an expression of grief and shock.  “Young BitterTooth?  Cheerful BitterTooth, of happy song and good humour?  BitterTooth, dead?” 

“It cannot be!” StripeSide said.

“It is,” Feathered said. 

RoundAlpha was surrounded by a cluster of humans now.  It seemed that he was receiving the same bad news.  The blood bleached out of his face; one of the rare bloodheat expressions that humans used instinctively.  “I am shocked!” his bloodheat declared. 

“And FirstHuman is preparing to go up the river with SmokeyOne and BridgeOfStone,” the youngster reported. 

“What!” StripeSide said, rearing back in horror. 

Up the river?  _Up?_   That way lay the fire!  She had seen the fire up close herself!  He had seen it at the same time she had!  It had burned her hip, touched her bloodheat with its evil power.  She had felt it try to overwhelm her, try to take her over with its sorcerous alien heat!  The fire had just killed BitterTooth – and  now her precious stupid human wanted to go back there? 

“He prepares already to depart.” 

“No!  I forbid it!”  she raged.  She rocked back onto her hocks, inhaling deeply.  His familiar scent came to her nostrils.  Old, here.  Old, there.  Freshly laid there, still crisp - there.  That way! 

She dropped her head and threw herself into the hunting run.  Head down, talons close to her breastbone, sprinting as fast as she could.    

His scent grew stronger as she raced after him.  He was already ahead of her.  He was moving down to the river.  He had a weapon slung over his back, and armour strapped around his body. 

“Stop!” she shouted, and sprang around in front of him.  “Stop!”  She braced in front of him, her breastbone low to the ground, her tail snaking.  She dropped her jaws, and screamed at him.  She would block his way! 

 _Blue!_   FirstHuman said, raising his palm to face her. 

She just screamed at him again, and hiss-snapped just short of his hand. The force of her snap travelled down her tail, shaking the painful hide where the brand had landed on her. 

 _Blue-ue,_ he warned, and held out his hand to her.  _Standdowngirl standdown…_

<Leaving, not!> she signed, and bared all her teeth as she screamed at him.  Oh, to make a mammal understand! 

<I go to fetch the blade-and-clatter,> he signed. 

<BitterTooth is dead!> she signed.  <And you would follow him to the fire!  No!> 

<The Lioness has the blade-and-clatter, and we can use it to fight the fire!> 

<Then let them fetch the blade-and-clatter.  Not you!> 

<They need me,> he signed.  <They can retrieve the blade-and-clatter, and the Clouds can guide them, but only I can speak to them all.  They need me.>

<Not to be going!> she signed.  She pulled her head upright, and settled back on her hocks.  <You cannot go!  This will be danger!> 

<My danger, my choice, my life it is, to risk to save the Pack.  I would not see you end like BitterTooth!  The blade-and-clatter can save the Pack!>

She snaked her neck and screamed.  <The pack is not your responsibility!  I am Alpha of Alphas, not you.  It is my fight, not yours!  Do you think that because you are my bond-mate that the whole world rests on your shoulders?  I fought TravelsOverWater, not you!> 

He wagged his head from side to side; a human gesture that meant, _No, You are wrong._ <You fought TravelsOverWater for me.  Now I will fight for you.>

<Not you,> she signed.  <Not for anything would I lose you!>

<Not for anything would I keep myself safe, and risk losing you.>  He walked closer to her, and stood in front of her, and she could see the stubborn resolve in his bloodheat.  He was not fearful, he was absolutely confident.  <Not for anything would I see you die like BitterTooth!  Not for anything, not even my life.  I could never be a fitting bond-mate for a great one like you, if I was not willing to fight as hard for you as you have fought for me.>  

She timbered, and her nictitating membrane slid closed.  <I will come with you, then.> 

He shook his head again.  <No, you cannot!  The Pack looks to you to lead them.  You hold them together.  Without you, all will be lost.  You fight your fight here, and I will now go and fight mine!  I will go.  And I will return.> 

<To this, do you swear?>

<Yes, I do so swear!  To you I will return.  And if I do not, it will be a price well paid to keep you safe.  BitterTooth has died.  No more of the Real People will die here today!  Not for anything would I leave you in danger, if I can stave it away!> 

He raised his hand, and set it gently on the tip of her snout, just below her nostrils.  She held still, staring at him.  His pale eyes with their round pupils stared up into hers.  She could feel the warmth of his hand on her snout.  She could smell him, and see the confidence in his bloodheat. 

He was confident. He was sure of himself. 

 _This_ was the FirstHuman she had learned to love.  This was the commander of humans from the Island of Clouds.  This was the FirstHuman who had dived into the pool of the Great Crocodile on the Island of Clouds to rescue her.  He had a fight in front of him, and he was flaring to life in front of her eyes. 

He had been unhappy here in this place, she saw, suddenly.  He had worn an air of earnest awkwardness ever since he had been carried into the healing-house. He had been polite, and persuasive, and tactful, and that was not easy for him. He had never once complained, but he wasn’t ready to bear the entire weight of her species on his shoulders.  _She_ was the Alpha of Alphas, not FirstHuman. He had not fought TravelsOverWater.  He hadn’t asked for that burden, he bore it unhappily, and she would not ask him to bear it again.   

But now FirstHuman had a fight in front of him again.  He had a job to do, a challenge to meet, an enemy to fight, and he had recovered all his old snap and his wonderful alpha ferocity.  

Humans knew what they were doing, she told herself. They had mastered fire for millions of years, they said.  They lit fires to make their food inedible.  They lit fires to dance around.  They did not fear their malignant servant.  He knew what he was doing. She had trusted him on the Island of Clouds.  He was asking her to trust him again.

After a moment, she pulled her head away from his hand, and backed away. 

<Then go,> she signed,  <Go, and go now, before I change my mind!> 

<The faster I leave, the faster I will return.>  He turned around and walked after the two soldiers, who had stopped to wait for him. 

StripeSide watched her human go, and followed behind him.  The three Clouds fell in around them. 

There was a spring in his step, she saw.  He was in a hurry.  He was eager to get this job done. 

He would come back to her, she told herself.  He would.  He must. Anything else was impossible.  After all the fighting they had seen, every barrier they had overcome, all the enemies they had faced, from the Mad Giant Person to the Lioness – it was impossible that he should not come back to her, after all that.  They were meant to be together.   

She followed the three humans down to the river. 

“You are sure that you know the way?” she asked. 

“We know the way,” Copper said.  “We have been as close to the Lioness as I am now to that tree, there.  We know exactly where the blade-and-clatter lands.”

“The humans did not see you?” 

“No human sees us, unless we want them to,” WoodAsh promised. 

There was a trio of boats waiting already on the bank.  RoundAlpha had commanded them, when BridgeOfStone proposed his plan to him.  The boats had thick rubber sides, and engines that could push them up the river.  They would use the boats to travel upstream as far as they could, and that way they could go much faster than humans could walk.  The humans threw their equipment into the boats, and pushed them off.  Other humans were holding the boats steady, ready for them to go. 

StripeSide stood on the bank, in the drying mud.  “Keep FirstHuman safe,” she said to FireMountain. 

“I will keep him safe,” FireMountain said.  “Fear nothing, Alpha of Alphas!  I will keep him safe, and return him to you.” 

“He is right,” she said.  “We know not how to fight this fire, but humans do.  They say that their species mastered fire millions of years ago.  If they say they need the blade-and-clatter, then they must.” 

<Jump in!> FirstHuman said, gesturing with his whole arm. 

FireMountain hesitated.  “I will have to curl up, or my claws will puncture that dainty rubber,” he said.  He tried to spring into the boat without touching the sides, but the whole boat bounced wildly under his weight.  His big white head bumped into the rubber balloons around the boat as he caught himself.   

“Now you,” StripeSide said to Copper, who made a similar bounce and landed in the other boat. 

WoodAsh followed.  “At moments like these, I am glad that I have SmallVoice keep my claws filed down,” WoodAsh said. 

<We will cover you with these,> FirstHuman said.  He gripped a sheet of canvas.  <We will have to run under the line of the fire to reach the waterfall.>  He dragged the canvas over FireMountain.

StripeSide felt her bloodheat waver with dread.  <Go not near the fire!>

FirstHuman sang something to the other two humans, who were settling Copper and WoodAsh into their boats.  He stepped up out of the mud and walked to StripeSide. 

<I will return,> he said.  He stopped just in front her face. 

She closed her nictitating membrane to see his bloodheat better.  He was alert, aroused, but calm.  <Even now, I would rather go with you.>

<You are the Alpha of Alphas,> he signed.  <You fight here.  Fear not for me.  I will return to you.  Ever, and forever, I will return to you.> 

<Then go.  I will wait for you.  And I will make sure all of the Pack are still here when you return!> 

They pushed off from the bank, and they started the engines of their boats.  The three  little craft gathered speed, pushing up into the river. 

StripeSide looked up, into the dark brown billows in the sky.  Her human was going _there._   Her human, with his fragile mammal bones and thin skin, was going up there, under the source of all that terrible smoke, and through to the other side. 

She kept pace with the boat on the bank, until the flank of the cliff made her path impossible to follow any further. 

Her last view of her bond-mate was of him turning around in the stern of the little boat.  He raised his hand toward her in silent farewell, and then the implacable chugging of the boat took him away around the first bend of the river.    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a tad late, and I had to split this chapter in half because it was running too long.


	10. Standing alone

Ian Malcolm had never felt so useless in his life. 

He couldn’t speak Spanish, he couldn’t speak Raptor Sign, he couldn’t even run far.  He was useless.  Just as he had been useless at the old Jurassic Park, with his broken leg.  It was not a great feeling, he told himself.  No, not his favourite feeling at all.  

Everyone in San Judas Tadeo seemed to know what to do.  They were all pitching in; they were all working together.  The whole town was buzzing like a hornet’s nest.  They might not have a fire department, but that wasn’t stopping them all from running around madly in all directions.  Everyone had a job.  Mayor Guerrero was in the square, running the whole show from a trestle-table like a little Napoleon.  Even SnailEater had signed a hasty farewell and sprinted after his packmates.  SnailEater was out there somewhere, rushing around at speeds that Malcolm and his cane couldn’t match. 

Only Ian Malcolm had nothing to do.  He felt as useless as a paper towel in a flood.  

He made his way to the hospital, hoping he would find something to do. 

There was a flurry of activity outside the blocky building.  The yard was a hive of activity.  People were coming and going; people of both species.  Malcolm went up the cement ramp and in through the front door.  The big nurse met him at the door, doing inter-species triage. 

“ _Señor_?”  she asked, and asked something in Spanish. 

“No, no, no.  I’m fine.  Ah.  Do you speak English?” 

She shook her head, and tried to grasp his face to stare into his eyes. 

“No, I’m fine!”  He pulled himself away.  _“Donde esta_ Somersby?” 

She pointed deeper into the hospital, and said something in Spanish. 

 _“Gracias, gracias_ ,” Malcolm said, making a light bow, in the hope that his meaning would vault over his bad Spanish. 

The hospital was quieter than Malcolm would have expected.  There were people around, breathing slowly and deeply.  The waiting room was almost silent, and for some weird reason the air had a strong smell of roast chicken. 

Malcolm found Somersby in her surgery.  “Claire?”  he asked, and stopped short.  “God, no.” 

There was a raptor on the floor, lying limply.  He wasn’t moving.  It was BitterTooth.  BitterTooth, who had helped teach Malcolm his first Raptor Sign lesson just a few hours ago, was dead. 

His human dyad, Carlo, was slumped against his side.  Carlo looked like he was out for the count.  

“I had to sedate Carlo,” Somersby said.  She was leaning against the cupboard, staring down at the dead dinosaur. 

“God, what happened?” Malcolm asked. 

“He got burned,” Somersby said. 

“Burned?”  There was blood on the floor, but there was barely a mark on BitterTooth’s body.  Across his back was a thick red smear, where the hide had been seared away. 

It took Malcolm a second to realize what the smell of roast chicken really was, and the nausea surged in his throat.  “God!” 

“Burns kill them,” Somersby whispered. 

"Surely that's not a fatal burn?” 

“They can’t cope with the sudden change in temperature!  God!”  she shook her head.  “It happened so fast!” 

“We have to keep them away from the fire line,” Malcolm said. 

“I”ve already sent word to Virgilio to move them away from the flames.  God, Ian!  If the fire keeps coming – if the town burns down – we could lose them all!” 

“We won’t lose them all,” Malcolm said. 

Somersby rubbed her hands over her face.  “Okay,” she sighed to herself.  “All right.  I’ve lost patients before.  Work now, cry later.  Get a grip, Somersby!   Ian.  What can I do for you?  Are you hurt?  Smoke inhalation?” 

“No,” he said.  “Ah, no.  No, I just wonder if you can, ah, _use_ me?” 

“Use you?”

“Extra hands,” he held up the hand that wasn’t gripping his cane, and flexed his fingers.  “One extra hand, anyway.  Use me.  Tell me what to do!” 

“Jesus,” she said.  She rubbed her brow with the back of her gloved wrist.  “Not now!  I don’t have time to teach you.”

“There must be something.  What do you need?” 

“Nothing!” she said.  “I need a trained staff and an ambulance.  I don’t have time to teach you what you need to do.” 

A voice shouted in Spanish in the corridor, and she shouted back.  She pushed herself off the side of the cupboard as if her bones were weighted with lead.  “I’m coming, I’m coming!” 

“There must be something I can do!” Malcolm said, before she could leave. 

She paused in the doorway and looked back at him.  Her eyes were very blue, he saw.  Blue, and fierce. 

“I know what you can do,” she said.  “Go to the church.”

“The church?” 

She nodded.  “If you want to help, go there!”  A second later she was gone. 

He leaned on his cane and followed her outside.  She was rushing to meet a group of three volunteer fire-fighters.  Two were supporting the third, who was coughing wildly.  Somersby went to him.  She spoke softly to the injured man, and then yelled at her nursing staff, shouting directions.  

Malcolm backed away from her little tableau. 

The church, she said.  The old stone church of St Jude. 

At least it wasn’t far.  He  walked under the faded stone statue of the patron saint of hopeless cases, with his axe in one hand and a dazed look on his stone face.  St Jude had every right to look dazed that he was offering sanctuary to _dinosaurs,_ Malcolm thought, wryly.  He let the cane lever him up the steps.  The door into the nave was open, and he stepped inside. 

The interior was still dark, with the shutters closed.  He paused by the holy-water to let his eyes adjust. 

The church floor was writhing with humanity - young humanity.  The floor of the nave, leading away toward the sanctuary, was crowded with children, sitting, playing, or squirming over each other.  He could hear babies wailing, and children screaming at nothing in that mindless way that tired toddlers had.  Their voices echoed under the high stone roof.  Malcolm spotted the little girl Isabella playing with a couple of other kids around the sanctuary steps.   

The town had decided to put the kids in one place; _all_ the kids, from both species.  There were eight baby raptors here too.  They were all hatchlings; babies with big eyes and with spiky feathers.  Old enough to join the pack, but not big enough to look after  themselves. 

Grant had told him how the raptors had gone berserk when Dr Brennan tried to steal their eggs.  He remembered the T.Rex parents going librarian-poo on Eddie Carr’s trailer, trying to rescue the baby Rex with the broken leg.  St Jude wasn't alone; this old church was probably the most fiercely-guarded building in South America. 

Malcolm turned at the _ZAAAARP!_  of cloth tearing.  There were a group of women sitting in a circle, and they were tearing strips of fabric out of bedsheets.  _ZAAARP!_   _Zip Zip Zip!  Zaaarp!_

Ah, yes.  Yes.  That was a job that a man with a bum knee could do.  He walked over to them, and leaned on his cane.  _“Hola,”_ he said.  He pointed to his cane, and to the work they were doing.  _“Por favor,_ I help?  _Si?_   I help?” 

“Did you find EatsPlants?”  one of them said, in English. 

“EatsPlants?” Malcolm asked.  “The, ah, the little special fellow?”

“He is missing,” she said.  “Nobody see him since this morning."

“Missing?” 

“He is hiding,” she said.  “He is hiding when he is frightening, like baby bird.” 

Malcolm looked around at the church. 

EatsPlants’s siblings were eight months old – old enough to be lethal killers.  They  were out there with the rest of the pack, but EatsPlants didn’t have their brains, or their sense of self-preservation. 

“I’ll go find him,” he said. 

“He likes to hanging around the hospital.”

“He’s not there now,”  Malcolm admitted. “I just, ah, I’ve just been there.”   He swivelled the cane.  “I’ll find him and bring him here.” 

“His parents are worried.” 

“Tell them Doctor Malcolm is on the case,” Malcolm said. 

He swivelled, and left the church.  He stopped on the steps, and stared up at the serene face of St Jude. 

Fire killed velociraptors – and one of them was missing.  Not just any raptor, but EatsPlants.  The ‘special’ one, who nevertheless cast into the shade every intelligent animal in the history of ethnology, from Clever Hans to Koko the Gorilla. The cute little one with the My Little Pony face, that everyone adored.  

And if little EatsPlants ran off, he was just as likely to run _into_ the fire as away from it. 

 _Okay, St Jude,_ he thought at the saint.  _Ian Malcolm to the rescue._

Malcolm would find him.  He gripped his cane and stepped resolutely away.  

Where would a frightened baby velociraptor hide?  he wondered.   If the adults were afraid of the sky, where would a baby one run to?  He thought that EatsPlants would keep to the familiar places where the adults were, but he was nowhere here.  One of the adults would have been able to sniff him out, if he was in the centre of town. 

No, he realized.  He shouldn’t look for a place where a _normal_ velociraptor would hide.  EatsPlants was different.  He was a raptor running purely on instinct.  He was closer in being to the very first raptors of Jurassic Park.

The first raptors on Isla Nublar and Isla Sorna had been raised without parents to guide them.  Malcolm had seen enough of 20th century animal ‘science’ to know how warped animals could be when they were raised in total isolation.  The raptors of Jurassic Park had been as psychologically damaged as Harry Harlow’s monkeys.  There had been nothing normal about the raptors on Isla Sorna. Without parents, without teachers, they'd grown up in a society without structure, without rules, without cooperation. The biggest and strongest survived, and all the others died.  

The younger generations grew up with a pack, with parents to teach them how to behave. They had learned behaviours now; they had a culture, and a language, and laws.  Not that they were tame, no.  Velociraptors were _not_ tame.  They were _not_ cute or cuddly.  They were _still_ aggressive, vicious, possessive apex predators, capable of tearing apart a human being in a matter of seconds.  There was _no_ material difference – _none_ – between eloquent, idealistic StripeSide, and the raptors who ripped up Jurassic Park.  What differed was their environment, not their inherent instincts.

But EatsPlants… whatever afflicted him, he too was cut off from his community.  He was as abnormal and solitary, in his own way,  as the first raptors on Isla Nublar.  He wouldn’t _do_ what a normal raptor did.  EatsPlants ran purely on instinct. 

All right, so what had the raptors of Jurassic Park done?  They had found a dark, secluded tunnel to lay their eggs.  Running on instinct had driven them to seek darkness.  A adult raptor would seek out the company of his packmates.  EatsPlants, driven by instinct, would try to return to the darkness of his nest. 

Malcolm turned.  It was a guess, but he had nothing but time. 

He followed the street downhill, away from the hospital and the church.  He went downhill, until the cement houses turned to wood, and then to woven palm-leaf shacks. 

* * *

 

The Bambi bucket lay collapsed on its side like an orange jellyfish.  The struts and stays inside it looked like a hopeless tangle of rope and aluminium.  The words BAMBI BUCKET were stencilled vertically on the sides. 

“It’s a mess,” Grant said.  He grabbed some straps and started extending them, trying to make sense of how they fitted together. 

“It is supposed to open when the helicopter is picking up the weight,” Flavio said, holding the operating manual in one hand.  “Now.  That rope is going up to the helicopter.” 

“And this one?” 

“That is… ah… I think that is the control wire.  Wait.  No, that is the trip wire.  I think _that_ is the control wire.  That thing must be the control head – I think?” Flavio rotated the manual as if looking at the diagram upside down would make more sense.  “Does that go inside the helicopter or under it?  I think maybe is going to be wired into the cockpit?” 

Grant picked up what might be the control head and walked away with the tangle of cords.  The trip-wire dragged with it.  He put the control head down on the runway and walked back. 

“That’s the link with the helicopter.  What’s next?” 

“Step One,” Flavio read.  “Check the bottom chain looking for any tears in the fabric straps.  Do you see a chain in there anywhere? 

“Here’s a chain.” 

“No, it has to be on the _bottom.”_  

“That _is_ the bottom!” Grant said. 

Flavio rotated the book the other way around, but the diagram made no more sense to him.  _“Puta madre!_ ” 

“Let me see that.”  Grant held out his hand for the book, and Flavio handed it over. 

“There’s an aeroplane coming in,” Eduardo shouted, appearing in the doorway of the little twenty-by-twenty-feet control tower.

“Now?”  Flavio said, looking up. 

“It’s the fire-fighters from Florencia!”  Eduardo called.  “They want to know if the runway is clear!” 

 _“Dios mio!”_ Flavio yelled.  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“How could I?  I didn’t know they were coming!”  Eduardo yelled back. 

“Why didn’t they _tell_ us they were coming?”

“They couldn’t get through on the radio!  The raptors are all shouting at each other.  Do you want to go to StripeSide and tell her to _shut up?_ Do you?”   

Grant used the quiet moment to start paging quickly through the manual, looking for a diagram of the control head.  He’d seen Bambi buckets in use, but always from the ground.  He’d never actually handled one before.  He was pretty sure he could sort it out faster by himself, if he didn't have Flavio’s assistance. 

“There they are, there they are!” Eduardo pointed his finger.  A twin-prop plane was coming over the hillsides. 

The plane levelled on the far end of the airstrip, and came in to land.  Its wheels bumped down, with a loud squeak and a puff of hot rubber.  It buzzed past the control tower, props humming as it fought to brake.   By the time it reached the trees on the far end of the runway, it had slowed enough that the pilot could taxi around and come back to where Grant, Flavio and Eduardo were waiting. 

Flavio and Eduardo ran across the tarmac to greet the plane.  Flavio waved his hands, beckoning the plane in.  Eduardo ran about with chocks.  The engine ran for a few seconds as the pilot shut it off.  The door opened, peeling out from the slick shiny skin of the aircraft and rolling down to the tarmac. 

A man pushed the steps out in front of him, and jumped down.  He was solid-set, with heavy shoulders.  His skin was dark, revealing a rich African ancestry. 

 _“Hola!”_ he said, stepping smartly toward Flavio. 

“ _Señor!_ ” Flavio met him, and greeted him with a handshake. 

Other men were already piling down from the side of the aircraft.  They were dragging heavy bags and bundles with them.  They wore bulky black trousers with yellow stripes, and some of them had thick equipment belts.  Trained firefighters, thank God, Flavio thought. 

“My name is Flavio!” Flavio said.  “This is my nephew, Eduardo.  And that is Doctor Grant.  Welcome to San Judas Tadeo.”

“I’m Captain Jorge Rubio Garcia,” the man said, shaking hands with Eduardo and Flavio.  “Florencia Fire Service.  We came as soon as we could.  We could see from the air you’ve got a bad situation here. Where’s your – _what the hell is that?”_

Flavio turned.  The look on the man’s face could mean only one thing.  His eyes were bugging out in shock.  Behind the fire-chief, two of the men collided with each other as they saw the same thing Rubio had.  A man slipped on the ladder and nearly fell.  Another popped his head out of the plane door, and said,  _“Dios mio!”_

Flavio pivoted the camera, panning over to look at ScarBreast.  The raptor had been drawn here by the sound of the approaching aircraft, and he’d been sitting back on his hocks watching.   He saw that he was being stared at, because he snapped his teeth and trotted over. 

“Oh, him?” Flavio said.  “That’s ScarBreast.  He’s a dinosaur.” 

The fire chief looked wildly at ScarBreast.  “Is he yours?” 

“No,” Flavio said.  “He’s _his._   He lives here.  You should look us up on Tripadvisor!  You will find it very interesting!”

ScarBreast had trotted over, and stopped a few yards away, examining them out of each eye in turn.  He signed something that no-one could read.  When no-one replied, he snorted.  

“Dinosaurs,” Rubio said.  “O-kaaaay.  So you’ve got a tame velociraptor here?” 

“Oh no, he’s not tame.  But it’s all right, he’s very friendly!  Except, um, don’t run away.  And don’t make any sudden moves.  And don’t scream, whatever you do, because he might decide to chase you… but it’s all right!  He’s very friendly.” 

“Right.” 

“Come,” Flavio said.  “I’ll take you to the square.  The Mayor is in charge.  He’ll be happy to see you here.” 

It wasn’t a long walk.  The rest of the fire-fighters on loan from Florencia carried on unpacking their equipment, with one eye on ScarBreast.  Eduardo showed the pilot where the fuelling pump was, so that the plane could be refuelled from La Leona’s underground tank. 

Rubio and his second-in-command, a string-bean named Ramirez, followed Flavio into the town, and up to the square. 

Mayor Guerrero had set up his headquarters in the town square, Raptor Central.  The townspeople had brought out trestle tables, and the wooden planks were covered now by sheets of paper, piles of newsprint, written commands and orders.  The map spread out had already been scribbled on and coffee-ringed.  He’d fetched out the large white-board from the hospital and set it up under the tree, and he and StripeSide were co-ordinating with each other on that.  The hand-held radios crackled constantly.  The channels that were being kept clear by StripeSide’s order were audible; any other frequency was filled by the crackle and sputter of raptor voices. 

Roy was there, watching and filming.  He’d been recording the activity around Guerrero’s command post.  Now that the real fire-fighters had arrived, he swung his brand-new camera around to face him. 

He wanted to see _someone else’s_ expression when they saw StripeSide do her thing.  Seeing his first velociraptor had givenhim an instant asthma attack; he wanted to see the reaction from the outside.

Rubio checked as he saw Roy’s camera, but Flavio gave him no time to protest.  He hooked an arm into Rubio’s, and organised him along to where Guerrero was bending over the map table. 

“Virgilio!” Flavio said. 

“Flavio?” Guerrero turned. 

“These are the fire-fighters from Florencia.”

“We heard the plane arrive,”  Guerrero reached out, and shook hands with Rubio.  “I’m Mayor Virgilio Guerrero.  Welcome!"   

“Captain Jorge Rubio Garcia,” Rubio introduced himself.  “I”ve brought a team of twenty men.” 

“I’m glad you could come out so soon.  We’ve got a desperate situation here!  Here, look at the map.”

“Yes,” Rubio said.  He walked over to the map, and looked down at the ring of Xs around the western edge of the map.  “You’ve been almost completely circled!  How?  Why didn’t you call before it got this bad?”  

“Because it was arson,” Guerrero said.  “Intentionally started to burn down this town.    Came out of no-where.”

“Are you sure?”  Rubio asked. 

“Oh, very sure.  We caught one in the act.  We’ll press charges as soon as we can.”  If, Guerrero thought, someone didn’t decide to pay Julian a visit and slit his throat first. He kept the thought from his face. 

“Well, I’ve brought a team of twenty men,” Rubio said.  “And I saw your people setting up a Bambi bucket.  That’ll help.  The sooner we have that up in the air the better… And we’ve got – _oh, another one!”_

His eyes went over Guerrero’s shoulder. 

StripeSide was jogging up.  She stopped in front of them.  Her killing-claws flexed into the ground as she looked the strangers up and down.  JaguarPaw crowded up on her right side, and MoonRain on her left. 

“Where the hell did they all _come_ from?” Rubio asked, confounded.  “I thought the only dinosaurs were at Jurassic World!

“Ah, no, you thought wrong,” Guerrero said, briskly.  “They live here.” 

“But they’re dinosaurs!  Real dinosaurs!” 

“This is StripeSide,” Guerrero said.  “StripeSide is the queen raptor.  She commands the pack.  We’re working together.”  Guerrero didn’t speak a lot of Raptor Sign, but he turned to face StripeSide. 

<This person,> he signed.  <Greeting you.>

She ducked her head, and snarled.  <Tell him I greet him, and to meet him I am glad.>

“She says to tell you she says hello,” Guerrero translated, feeling very pleased with himself.  “And she says she’s pleased to meet you.” 

“Wait, what?”  Rubio stared at StripeSide’s waving talons.  “She _talks?”_

“Yes,” Guerrero said.  “The velociraptors are intelligent.  They talk.  They make plans.  Think of it as… John Hammond’s last gift to the world…”

StripeSide flexed her tail from side to side, staring at the fire captain.  She seemed to be weighing him up.  

“But she’s a dinosaur!” Rubio said.  He was having difficulty fitting the idea of a talking dinosaur into his head.   

“Yes,” Guerrero said.  “She’s a dinosaur.  And she’s the reason for the fire.  She’s the reason for the arson.”

“What?”  Rubio turned his eyes back to Guerrero.  _“Why?”_

“The Gomez cartel is just up the river,” Guerrero said.  “La Leona set the fires.  She’s trying to kill the raptors, all in one go.”

Brief silence. 

“Bitch,” Rubio said, bluntly. 

“La Leona wants to exterminate all the velociraptors – StripeSide and her people.  As far as she is concerned, this town is just… what’s that English phrase?”

“Collateral damage,” Flavio said. 

“The dinosaurs are intelligent,” Guerrero said.  “But to La Leona, they’re a threat." 

“No, to hell with that,” Rubio said.  “If she wants to kill the raptors, we’ll stop her. We've had dealings with her in Florencia before.”  

“Good,” Guerrero said. 

“This fire,” Rubio turned to the map.  “It’s already formed a firefront.  It’s coming this way.”

“The wind has been steady from the west all day.” 

“And with all these thatch roofs, this town is going to go up like a bomb.  Where’s your helicopter?  We saw your Bambi bucket.”

“We had one, but it was stolen,” Guerrero said. 

“How do you mean, it was stolen?”

“I mean the bitch up the river decided she needed it more than us,” Guerrero said.  “We’ve sent someone to fetch it.”

“We’re going to need it,” Rubio said.  “With such thick forest, the fire is going to be too hot to fight from close range – physically too hot to tolerate.  The only way to fight it will be defensively.  In the meantime, we need to evacuate the most vulnerable people from this town.  Small children and the infirm first.  My pilot is refuelling the plane.  We’ll take as many babies and toddlers as we can, and come back with the second team - .”

“And the hatchlings,” Guerrero interrupted. 

“What?”

“You’ll evacuate the babies _and_ the hatchlings.”

“Not the animals.  We can’t make room for humans to evacuate animals.”

“They’re not animals!” Flavio said. 

“Babies, toddlers, and hatchlings,” Guerrero said.  “We’ll send nursing babies with their mothers, and the eight hatchlings with one adult raptor.” 

“We’ve got one plane,” Rubio said.  “We’ll only have room for kids under four, and their mothers.”

 “I’m sorry,” Guerrero said.  “You seem to think there is a debate here.  You’ll take _all_ the babies of _both_ species, or none.” 

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious,” Guerrero said.  “These people – _people_ – we can’t say to them that we’ll save _our_ babies, and abandon theirs.  They don’t need to stand and fight with us.  They’re fighting with us on a political principle.” 

“Mother of God,” the Fire Chief said.  “You’re mental.”

“All the babies,” Guerrero said, “Or none of the babies.   Your call, captain.  Fuel the plane, and make your decision.”

He turned his back on Rubio.  He knew he had no legal right to make this stand.  Legally, velociraptors were still animals.  If the town burned down around him, he would be execrated for his decision, but he was going to stand his ground. 

He picked up the pen and wrote on the white-board. 

THE AIRCRAFT CAN TAKE THE BABIES AND THE HATCHLINGS AWAY TO SAFETY. 

StripeSide hissed. 

“What are you doing?” Rubio asked. 

“Communicating,” Guerrero said.  He added another line.  WE MUST SEND ONE ADULT RAPTOR WITH THEM TO SPEAK FOR THEM. 

StripeSide hissed again, and snapped her teeth.  She sprang sideways in the sudden whirling turn that the raptors often made before they wrote something – very _physical_ creatures, Guerrero thought – and then she grabbed the other pen.  She never grabbed a pen from his hand – Owen had taught her never to grab at a human with her talons. 

She raised the pen to the board. 

I WILL SEND MOONRAIN, AND JORGE, she wrote. 

Rubio made a choking sound.  His mouth opened and closed soundlessly.  His eyes had bugged out, perfectly round against his dark skin.  He gawped at the whiteboard as if his brain could not incorporate what he was seeing.   

Standing quietly to one side, Roy laughed.  He knew he was jiggling his camera, and that his chuckle would be audible on his recording, but he couldn’t stop himself. He spun up the dial on the camera, zooming in as closely on Rubio’s face as he could.  _That_ was a facial expression worth preserving for future historians…Oh, it was _fantastic_ to see someone _else_ as boggled by the intelligence of the raptors as he himself had been.  Poor Rubio looked as if he’d discovered an alien civilisation in his bathtub. 

StripeSide kept writing. 

MOONRAIN CAN READ SPANISH, AND JORGE IS VERY FAMILIAR WITH YOUR HUMAN CITIES. 

CAN MOONRAIN FEED THEM ALL? 

THEY ARE ALL TOOTHED, AND ABLE TO EAT SOLID MEAT.

She dropped the marker and dashed away.  The conversation was over, for now.  Raptors were always in a hurry.  

“She’s intelligent,” Rubio choked.  “You weren’t joking.  She’s intelligent.  _Dios mio!_   She’s intelligent… how?”

“Now you see why Gomez wants to kill them all.”

 _“Dios mio!”_ Rubio said. 

“Joaquin!” Guerrero shouted across the square. 

_“Jefe?”_

“Go to the church, and tell them we’ve evacuating the babies on _Señor_ Rubio’s plane.  They have to be ready to leave as soon as the plane is fuelled.  Just the babies, and their mothers!” 

* * *

 

“Now here me!” StripeSide sang as she ran.  “Now hear me!” 

She wished she had the range and power of WingWatch, but she did not.  She stopped, so that she could sing louder. 

“We are going to send the hatchlings away, to a safe place, where the fire cannot get to them.” 

“Away?”  It was ScarBreast’s voice, from somewhere beyond the buildings. 

“The flight engine will take them away through the sky!  Our babies, and the human babies together!  Now hear me, the parents of our babies, in the invisible person’s place!  Our humans will keep the babies safe!  No harm will come to them.  They will be safe, away from here, far from the fires!” 

“Away?”  ScarBreast queried.  “And LittleOrchid?” A moment later he appeared around the corner of the street, and jogged toward StripeSide. 

“We will send LittleOrchid too.”

“Through the sky?”  he queried, his bloodheat flashing sudden dread.  “In that little machine?” 

“Yes, in that little machine,” StripeSide said.  “Worry not, flight machines are not something to fear.” 

“That is not what I fear,” he said.  “Will we get them back again?” 

“If we do not get them back,” StripeSide promised, “We will go and fetch them.  I am the Alpha of Alphas, and this is what I say we will do.”

“I do not wish to send my baby away from me, alone among humans,” ScarBreast said.  

“She will not be going alone,” StripeSide said.  She whirled around and  jogged toward the invisible person’s house.  “MoonRain!” she called. 

MoonRain had been in the invisible person’s house.  She sprang out. 

“Alpha of Alphas?” 

“I have a task for you,”  StripeSide said.  “And for your human.  You will both go with the babies, through the sky, to the nearest human city.” 

“Me?” 

“You, and your human, too.  TravelsOverWater used SnoresLoudly as her courier, did she not?  He has been into many great towns.” 

TravelsOverWater used to use SnoresLoudly as her long-range courier.  A human could pass unnoticed in places where no dinosaur could go, and you could travel much more quickly by simply walking out of the forest and catching a vehicle.  SnoresLoudly had been the first member of the Pack FirstHuman had ever met, and he had done his best to frighten FirstHuman away from the Real People with scary stories about monsters roaming the forest at night.

“Yes,” MoonRain agreed.  “He travelled once all the way to the greatest city of his tribe.  He has friends and family there.” 

 “Then he will know what to do.   Do not let yourself be separated from the hatchlings.  Not for any reason.” 

“I will go too,” ScarBreast said. 

“There is not enough space inside the flying machine!” StripeSide said.  “If you would go, they would _all_ go, and that cannot be or the machine will never leave the ground!  You will have your baby back, but more importantly she _will_ be safe, whatever happens here!  To that I swear, ScarBreast!” 

StripeSide rushed past the carved simulacrum of a human that stood outside the invisible person’s house.  She jumped up the steps, and leaped in through the door with a scream. 

Some humans inside screamed in shock at the sight of her. 

<Apologies!> she signed quickly.  <I meant not to startle you!> 

SnoresLoudly and another human met StripeSide at the door.  <Alpha of Alphas,> he signed. 

<Gather the hatchlings,> she commanded. 

<RoundAlpha has already given commands,> he said.  <I am ready to go.  The human mothers are gathering their possessions to travel.  One has agreed to carry LittleOrchid.  All are here.  All except one.  One is missing!> 

<Missing?> she said.  <Who is missing?  A human infant?> 

It shouldn’t be difficult to find a missing human infant.  Leave them alone for a few minutes, and soon a truly horrible smell would come to find _you._  

She bumped past him and stood staring across the invisible person’s house.  She pulled her head up as high as she could, tail so low it brushed the floor.  She could see and smell all eight hatchlings here.  LittleOrchid was here. 

<EatsPlants is not here!> she said and turned her head to look at SnoresLoudly. 

<He has not been seen since the fire began,> SnoresLoudly signed.  <They tell me that TalksToNumbers has gone to find him, but he never returned, and they do not know where he is.> 

<EatsPlants cannot be far,> ScarBreast signed.  <He never strays far from the healing house.> 

<He is not here,> SnoresLoudly signed.  <We have sought him.  He is gone.> 

StripeSide whirled. 

There was no point in shouting EatsPlants’ name to the sky.  He wouldn’t answer; he never answered.  He lacked what FirstHuman called a ‘theory of mind,’ to know that you were shouting his name because you did not know where he was. 

<You, MoonRain!  Go and find EatsPlants,>  she signed.  <You, ScarBreast!  And SnoresLoudly.  Collect all the babies – _all_ the babies!  They must be on the flying machine when it leaves.  I am the Alpha of Alphas!  This I command.” 

MoonRain whirled, and paused in front of her human.  <Precious one!  Now do I go to seek EatsPlants!  Be sure to be on the flight machine, and I will find you there, before you depart!>

<With EatsPlants, or without him,> StripeSide signed.  <The flying machine will leave with the babies, and you must be inside it.  You have thirty minutes, no more!  The machine is leaving immediately.> 

* * *

 

Ian Malcolm was tired of walking.  All this walking was making his knee play up. 

The fact was, something in his knee had never fully healed after Jurassic Park.   He couldn’t be angry at the old T.Rex.  She was an animal, doing what animals did.  He could have been angry about his disability, or he could laugh, and Ian Malcolm always preferred to laugh.  The universe was ridiculous, how could he _not_ laugh?  

But now – Dionysus, he was _ready_ for the knee replacement.  Ian Malcolm, Bionic Man.  Besides, he had a dinosaur to court, didn’t he?  He would need both pins, just to keep up with SnailEater. 

He’d stood here long enough.  He’d searched through the houses, and underneath them. He’d searched under cars, and inside backhouses.   It was time to start searching along the river. 

The river level had receded in the dry season.  Its surface was slick and brown.  It was still broad, but it was lined now with broad beaches of mud and tumbled stones and broken trees.  In the rainy season the water rose to flood among the trees crowding the far bank, and to eddy around the stilts of the houses. 

He turned, and made his way along the river bank.  Poles here and there held up fishing nets like wiry curtains.  A few jetties stuck out from the tree line, barely reaching the water right now. 

Malcolm paused. 

Something had happened here on the river bank recently.  He could see the scrapes, where a couple of big boats had been pushed out.  There were many footprints in the mud, human and raptor.  The raptor footprints were identical to any track that Alan Grant might dig up at SnakeWater, but these were still fresh, and filling with greasy water and dead leaves. 

Some of those tracks were big, he guessed, measuring one track with his own polished black boot for scale.  The big ones went in only one direction. The white raptors?  

And there was _one_ set that was very small.  Malcolm leaned on his cane to look closer.  Someone very small had walked here, not long before the boats were launched. 

Malcolm followed the small footprints, but lost them in a spill of pebbles.  He stood and looked around. 

There was a cluster of buildings a little further along.  Houses; shacks really.  A skein of fishing nets were hanging up to dry, but there was no fisherman around.  They were all fighting the fire.  Just below the houses was a run-down jetty.  It started at the foot of one of the dirt tracks that wound up to the top of the hill.  It served no purpose now, so far from the water. 

Malcolm walked up to it and stared at it. 

If he was wrong he would have gotten down on his hands and knees for no reason.  He would have bent his aching knee for no reason – but he knew he was not wrong.

He leaned his cane against the jetty, and leaned one hand on the rot-softened planks to support his weight.  He lowered his good knee to the mud, gently, his bad knee stretched out to his side.  He bent double, and put both hands down on the cool mud to support his weight. 

There was a soft _Mrrrp_ from the dark. 

“Hello, there,” Malcolm said.  He twisted his head to look up, under the acute angle of the jetty where the planking met the mud. 

The dim light glittered in a pair of eyes.  Just eyes; he couldn’t see anything else in the dark back there. 

This wasn’t a comfortable position; half-lying on one knee and both hands.  Malcolm let his weight forward, lowering himself to his elbows, craning his head to see. 

Yes; there was a grey My Little Pony face looking back at him.  “Yes, there you are,” Malcolm said.  “Fancy meeting you here.  Really, you meet such, ah,  interesting people under a bridge.”

EatsPlants couldn’t understand a word he was saying.  It didn’t matter what he said or how he said it; it was just noise. 

“Now how do we get you out of there, little man?  Hmm, there’s a problem.  I can’t fit in there.  You’re going to have to come to me, or I’m going to have to get someone more nimble to climb back up there and fetch you.”

 He scuttled further under the jetty.  The wood bumped his back.  His shirt was getting full of mud and rotten vegetation, but he wriggled on the sand, and a moment later he was under the jetty, lying on his stomach, facing EatsPlants. 

“Come here, kiddo.  Come to Uncle Ian.” 

It stank down here of stagnant water and dead things.  Rot had got into the soft tropical timber, and there were tufts of mysterious green Things growing here.  Where the stagnant water had dried up, it had left a tide-line of scum behind on the sand. He didn't even want to know what kinds of ghastly tropical bugs lived under here.  

Malcolm wrinkled his nose.  He tried to raise himself above the sand, but his hair bumped the scabby wood above instead.  “Yuck,” he said.  “Yeah, don’t make me come in there after you.  Come to Uncle Ian.”  He made a come-to-me gesture with his hands. 

 _Mrrrp!_   The little golden eyes blinked. 

Malcolm tried to remember the sign for ‘come here.’  He extended his hands.  Thumb and little finger together, so that your hands mimicked the three talons of a raptor.  He thought he had the sign right. 

EatsPlants stared at him.  And then the tiny dagger talons came up, and he repeated the sign back to Malcolm. 

 _Echolalia,_ Dr Somersby said.  Often, EatsPlants repeated what you said back to you. 

EatsPlants seemed to be in no hurry to leave his safe hiding-place.  Malcolm’s eyes were getting used to the darkness.  EatsPlants was wedged in tightly, in the deepest crevice.  Clearly not scared of ghastly tropical bugs – or perhaps he ate them.  His little claws were clinging to the mud under him. 

“Well, there’s no hurry,” he said.  “I know little kids.  Love kids.  Absolutely anything can and does happen.  I’ve been a dad, several times over.  I can sit here until you’re ready to come out.” 

He kept talking, half to EatsPlants, half to himself. 

“All right.  What do you want to talk about, little man?  How about SnailEater?  Ah, yes..."  He had a lot in common with SnailEater, he told little EatsPlants.  They were both outsiders in society, and they’d both learned to live with it.  They had both already been through the whole marriage-and-kids thing before.  They were both mature adults who knew what they wanted out of their lives.  They were both looking for something different.  They were both grown men – well, one grown man and one grown dinosaur. 

 _Mrrrrp!_ EatsPlants said.  _  
_

"Still,"  he told EatsPlants, "It's going to be interesting..." Malcolm was looking forward to it.  None of his relationships with women lasted very long, had they?  Maybe he was unconsciously looking for a dinosaur all along? Or maybe he'd just spent too long chatting up girls in the soft sciences, and had started to believe in destiny.   

_Mrrrrp!_

It was time to make the sign again.  He reached out both hands, and made the <Come here,> sign again.  This time he held out both hands, as if he was inviting a todder to be picked up. 

EatsPlants stared at his hands.  _Mrrrp!_   He pushed his face out, and scrabbled with his hind legs to push himself out of his crevice. 

“That’s it, that’s the way.  Come to Uncle Ian,” Malcolm said.  He kept both hands outstretched. A moment later he had an armful of warm hatchling. 

“That’s good,” Malcolm said.  “There’s a good boy.”  He started wriggling backwards to get himself out from under the jetty.  EatsPlants batted his little face against Malcolm’s cheek, creeling to be fed. 

How long had he been lying here, talking to himself?  In the distance, the sun was a red coin pinned up behind a curtain of smoke.  The light along the river was a surreal orange, as if he was viewing everything on a Seventies cinema screen.  

He started back up the road again.  EatsPlants curled his talons into Malcolm’s shirt, gripping tightly.  Malcolm could feel his tail whipping against his legs, reminding him of the baby T.Rex on Isla Sorna.  They walked together up the road.

His first warning that something was wrong was when he got to the church.  One of the plump dowagers saw him coming, and waddled to meet him.  She was yelling in Spanish. 

EatsPlants took fright, and tried to get away by climbing over Malcolm’s shoulder.  Malcolm grabbed him, restraining him. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said to the woman, “Where’s the fire, what’s the rush?”

She yelled at him in Spanish, tugging at his sleeve.  She towed him around in a half circle, pointing back the way he’d come. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, _no habla Ingles..”_  

When she saw that he was staring blankly, she pointed at EatsPlants, and made a flapping-wings gesture with both arms.  When she saw that he still didn’t understand, she gave up.  She looped her arm around his arm, and started towing him after her.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Malcolm said.  “I don’t understand.  I have to take him to the church.  All the babies are in the church.  I don’t understand, where are you going?” 

“Ian!” 

“Alan?” Malcolm turned. 

Alan Grant came trundling out from behind a house, looking wild.  His brows were fierce, over his blue eyes.  “My God, you found him!”

“He was down by the …” 

“We need to get him to the airstrip before the plane leaves!”

“What plane?” 

“The plane that landed half an hour ago!  They’re evacuating all the babies to Florencia!  We have to hurry, or they’ll take off without him!  Come on!”

Malcolm turned, and hurried after Grant.  He hefted EatsPlants up in his arm, and leaned on his cane. 

“We need to strategise,” he said.  “You're quicker than me.  You take him.” 

“Yeah," Grant said.  “Makes sense.” 

Malcolm turned around, as if he was handing a baby over.  Grant reached over and tried to put his hands around EatsPlants, but the raptor wasn’t having it.  EatsPlants squealed and struck out with his teeth. 

“Yeowch!” Grant jumped away. 

"Did he bite you?"

"No, he didn't get me." 

“You’ve got to go, kiddo,” Malcolm said.  He gripped EatsPlants’s little forehands with his fingers and tried to untangle the hatchling from his shirt, but his claws were hanging on too closely.  EatsPlants cried miserably.  “Yeah, I don’t think this is going to work, Alan.  Or he’ll jump off and run away and we’ll have to find him all over again."

“We need to stop that plane,” Alan said.  He looked at EatsPlants, grimly.  His mouth clamped in a wide grimace.  

"I'll walk as fast as I can." 

"I'll go ahead, and stop that plane!"

Malcolm watched as Alan Grant’s plaid shoulders disappeared around the corner.  He followed as fast as he could, with one hand on the head of his cane and the other arm looped around EatsPlants.  He limped as quickly as he could, with EatsPlants’ long tail slapping against his thighs as he went. 

He’d found that he could push through pain, if he promised himself it would end soon, and he could find a Vicodin and a massage soon.  But he couldn’t walk any faster.  Even if he picked up the cane and ran, he didn’t think EatsPlants was going to tolerate being shaken up. 

EatsPlants made a distressed warble.  “It’s all right, kiddo, we’re not going to drop you,” he promised. 

 He could hear the engine of the plane starting up even before he got to the airstrip.  It was spooling up, the pitch of the engine rising to a scream.  It was going, going now.

“I’ve got him!  I’ve got him!”  he yelled, as he hobbled out onto the strip and came into sight of the little control tower.

“It’s too late!” Grant ran to meet him, pointing to the end of the airstrip. 

The plane was on the far end of the runway, turning down to face them.  The pilot was readying his engine for a fast take-off. 

“We have to stop them, we’ve got one more!”  Flavio said.   

“He’s already going!”  Grant said. 

“Not if I can help it!” Malcolm said.    

The plane was moving, but Malcolm was moving too.    He wrapped his arm tightly around the wriggling hatchling, and realized when EatsPlants squealed that he was gripping him too tightly.  He carried the hatchling out into the centre of the airstrip, and turned to face the oncoming plane. 

The pilot could see him.  The pilot _must_ see him.  His boots could feel the thick paint of the runway’s markings.  The pilot _must_ see him.

Flavio ran out at his side, waving his arms wildly, but Malcolm didn’t bother.  The pilot would see him, or he would not.  He would pull back on the stick, and the plane would take off, and go screaming past right over their heads. 

He could see the plane level out down the runway.  The propellers were spinning, grey discs with a glisten of sunlight in them. 

He had a sudden memory of the moment he grabbed the flare and ran with it, and the T.Rex turned and lumbered after him.  Stupid, stupid, stupid… he needed a child-minder, that was what he needed…

“Stop!  Stop!  Stop!” Flavio shrieked, jumping up and down. 

He wasn’t going to stop, Malcolm realized.  He was going to hit them.  

“Okay, maybe this, ah, this wasn’t such a good idea.”  The plane was going to hit him.  He would have to throw himself face-down on the tar.  “Uh, no.  Bad idea, big mistake…”   

“Ian!” Grant shouted.  “Get down!” 

But the pitch of the plane was changing, and the slim white fusilage was yawing.  The shriek of the engines died abruptly.  The pilot had yanked on his joystick, or his throttle, or whatever the hell they did.  The take-off was being aborted. 

Aborted, but not stopped.   The plane’s slipstream whipped at Malcolm as it went past.  He bent double, ducking instinctively.  The shriek of the engines hammered at his ears.  The wingtip seemed to slice toward him, and then the plane was sliding past, still slowing. 

“He stopped,” Malcolm said, the breath bursting out of him.  His stomach had turned to water. 

“Come on!” Grant yelled. 

EatsPlants was shrieking.  Tiny claws were lashing out at Malcolm.  The little guy was terrified, thrashing to escape.  Luckily he was thrashing to get _away,_ not thrashing to attack, but it was like trying to hold onto an angry cat. 

“No-no-no-no!” Malcolm said, trying to hold onto him.  He needed both hands.  He let his cane drop, to hold the hatchling with both arms.  “Ow-ow-ow, no biting, no biting. ” 

The plane rolled to a stop. 

“We’ve got one more!” Flavio ran after the plane.  Grant followed. 

The door on the side of the plane opened, peeling upward.  A ladder extended, folding down to the ground under the plane.  Flavio shot up the ladder, and Malcolm could see him arguing with someone inside the plane’s door.  Flavio liked to shout; he would probably just shout at whoever was inside until he got his way.  Everyone in San Judas Tadeo seemed to ignore Flavio shouting.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Malcolm said, and realized that he didn’t need to run so fast.  The plane had seen them.  It had come to a full stop by now.  It wasn’t going to go without EatsPlants. 

It was a long walk, a long, _long_ walk.  Oh, Dionysus, that damn plane was too far away.  No hundred yards had ever seemed so long in his life.  EatsPlants wailed in his arms, tiny talons ripping at his shirt.  He felt a sear of fire run down his stomach, and realized that he’d been clawed by a tiny killing-claw.

Malcolm kept going.  “There we are, see, I told you it would be all right,” he said to EatsPlants.  

He reached the bottom of the ladder.

“We’ve got one more for Florencia,” Malcolm said.  

“Are you _crazy?_ ” a face at the top of the ladder shouted.  It was the man, Jorge – the one with the hooked nose.   

“Yes, I must be!” Malcolm said.  

Flavio jumped down out of his way, and Malcolm set one boot on the ladder, and the next.  The ladder wobbled precariously under him, but he managed to climb. 

There was a shriek above him.  He looked up. 

There was a raptor looking down at him, next to Jorge.  He recognised the striped face of the one named MoonRain.  She bared her savage teeth at him. 

Alan Grant said he had a recurring nightmare of velociraptors appearing in all sorts of places.  Long haul flights were a frequent stage for re-enacting Jurassic Park all over again.  But there really _was_ a velociraptor looking down at Malcolm from the door of a plane. 

EatsPlants saw the raptor face above him, and all of a sudden he was _gone_.  He leaped straight from Malcolm’s arms to the adult raptor, launching himself so hard that Malcolm almost fell backwards.    He landed on her neck and hooked on with those claws and talons.  She disappeared back into the interior of the plane. 

Close enough, Malcolm decided.  He wasn't going to climb the rest of the steps if he didn't have to.

“You’re an idiot!” Jorge said.  “Who runs out in front of an aircraft?  Who?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Malcolm said.  “You’ve got _all_ the babies now.  Keep them safe!  Now go!  Get out here.  Fly, my pretties, fly!” 

He turned awkwardly, and realized that his knee didn’t want to bend.  He backed down the ladder, with one leg completely rigid.  He got back to the tarmac, and the ladder was pulled up after him.  The door was hauled back up, and clunked shut. 

He saw a glimpse of the pilot through the high window of the cockpit, and the man waved a hand down to him.  It was time to get out of the way of those propellers, before the plane taxied back down the runway.  He limped back to retrieve his fallen cane and joined Grant and Flavio on the side of the runway. 

“You’re insane,” Grant said. 

“Yeah, I know.” Malcolm said.  “Dionysus, now I need a drink.  And a Vicodin.  And a knee replacement … in that order, please.” 

The plane taxied back down the runway, and turned back into the wind again.  The plane gathered speed, galloping heavily as if gravity would never let it go.  And then, a tiny sliver of light showed under the wheels.  They were off; airborne.  The plane’s nose pitched up, and dragged itself off the ground. 

Malcolm stood and shaded his eyes under his hand, until the plane had skimmed over the furthest treetops, and away out of sight in the smoky sky. 

* * *

 

Night was falling fast, by the time the helicopter came down from the sky.   Its thick landing treads felt gingerly for the centre of the helipad, as if the pilot was unsure of the ground in the gathering dark.  The trees around the villa were already black silhouettes against the deep purple sky. 

Thornton waited behind La Leona and her henchman Pedro.  The rotor wash whipped at her long hair, ripping it wildly around her head like Medusa.  She waited until the engine was switched off, and the pilot climbed down from the cockpit. 

He crouched under the still-revolving rotors, and trotted to her. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t report back on the radio!” he said.  “Something is jamming the signal.” 

“Never mind,” La Leona said.  “How many did you hit?”

“None.”

“What?”

“They’re not running!” the pilot said.  “We searched for an hour but we didn’t see a single one.  So I flew over the town.  They’re not running.  They’re standing and fighting with the townspeople. They're digging a fire-break!”

“Why didn’t you shoot them anyway?”

“Because someone shot back, and I didn’t want to risk a crash.  You said, under no circumstances…” 

“You idiot!” she shouted at him.  “I didn’t say run away from a couple of _campesinos!”_

“That wasn’t a _campesino,”_ the pilot tried to excuse himself.  “He was a _gringo_ , and he knew how to shoot.  Look, there are holes in the perspex!”

“They’re just a crowd of _campesinos,_ ” she shouted.  “And you’re an idiot, and a coward!”

“I’m sorry,” the pilot said. 

“You get back up there at first light with the .50!” La Leona shouted at him, pointing up into the sky.  “If these people are stupid enough to stand next to dinosaurs they can die next to dinosaurs too!  And if they’re in town, it’ll just make them easier to find!  _Madre de Dios_ _,_ do I have to do all the thinking around here myself! 

“I’m sorry,” the pilot said. 

“Pedro, you see to it that he goes up there tomorrow with the .50, and the flamethrowers, and all the RPGs!” 

“I’ll see to it, _Senorita,_ ” Pedro agreed.

“Why are you still here?” she shouted at the pilot.  “Get out of my sight!” 

“I’m sorry!” the pilot said again, and hurried away. 

La Leona turned and stamped away.  Thornton followed her.  She made no attempt to slow down for him, so he clanked on his crutch as fast as he could.  He wished he felt less like a toddler limping after an irritable mother, but it would be more embarrassing still to call after her and ask her to wait. 

He followed her to the veranda, under the colonnades.  She had already ordered another daiquiri, and she was glaring at the fading purple sky. 

“What was all that?” Thornton said, wishing that the conversation had been in English, not Spanish.   “How many did he get?” 

“None,” she said. 

“None?” 

“None.  Not one.  Zero.  Your plan has failed.  They’re not running away at all."

“That’s impossible!” Thornton blurted.  “All animals run from fire!”   

“They’re not running.  They are still in town, and they're fighting the fire.”

“Animals don’t do that!” Thornton refused to believe it.  He had never seen an animal stand and fight a fire; never ever, not once. 

“They’re not animals!” Pedro snapped.  “I keep telling you that!  You wait, until you’ve been up close to one of them, and looked her in the eye.  There’s a _person_ in those eyes.”

“They’re animals,” Thornton insisted.

“Grady says they’re not,” Pedro said. 

“Grady is _insane!”_   Thornton said, throwing up his hands.  “Grady invented this nonsense about their intelligence to save them from being shot after Jurassic World fell apart!”

“Grady says they’re people,” La Leona said.  “And Grady has been proven right, don’t you think?  What animal have you ever heard of that stands in front of a forest fire, and digs a fire-break?” 

 “If you really think they’re people,” he asked La Leona, “Why are you still trying to kill them?”

“Oh, Mr Thornton!” La Leona said.  “I wouldn’t go to such trouble to kill them all, if I thought for one second that they were only _animals!_   I like animals!  But they are people.  Dangerous people who threaten my business.  I can't tolerate that.” 

“They’re animals,” Thornton insisted.  

“You are wrong,” La Leona said, “Your plan has failed, Mr Thornton.  You said they would run away, and we could shoot them.  You were wrong.  You failed.” 

“This is a temporary set-back,” Thornton said.  “Send the helicopter tomorrow, and you’ll see that they’ve run away.” 

“You let me down,” she said.  “You've failed.  You're a liability.  Some of my teams did not come back today.  I lost men, because of you.  And what’s more, you’ve been lying to me.”

“Me?” Thornton said. 

“Your support from InGen is not coming, is it?” 

“They’re coming,” Thornton said.  “Men, helicopters, weapons.  InGen can’t afford to leave the raptors here…” 

“Except that you’re not working for InGen at all, are you?”  She leaned forward, pressing one finger to her lips, and looking at him keenly. 

“What?” he asked, suddenly worried. 

“If your spy in San Judas Tadeo could complain to the CEO of InGen, then why can't you?  _You’re_ not answering to the CEO yourself, are you?  In that case, who are you _really_ working for?  Who sent you here?”

Thornton gaped at her.  “You know who I am,” he said.  “I’m InGen’s man.  I used to work at Jurassic World.” 

“But you’re not working for InGen _now,”_ she said.  “In fact, a little bird has whispered in my ear, and it told me you work for a company called Xenocore Active Solutions.  And who is that?  Who owns them?  I wonder who I will find at the end of that piece of string, if I pull on it?  Hmm?”

“Look,” Thornton said.  “Okay, fine.  I'm not with InGen any more.  But it doesn’t matter who sent me here!  My employers want the same thing you do.  We both want the raptors dead!  They're military technology.  They're valuable, but they will only be tactically viable if my employers are the _only_ people who have them.  They’re no use if there’s a wild breeding population.  We wipe out the raptors, and then everyone’s happy.”

“You and your employers tried to play me for a fool, Mr Thornton.  You made me look weak, and I can’t afford to look weak.  In fact, you’re a liability, now.”

“Wait – hang on." 

“Nobody knows you’re here.  Xenocore Active Solutions, who are they?  Will they come looking for you?  No, I don’t think so."

“Hey.  I came here for the raptors.  You know that’s the only reason I’m here!” 

“Nobody but you and me knows that you’re here,” she said.  “Nobody else knows how this fire was started.  Two people can keep a secret, if one of them is dead.”

“Hey, tell me you’re only joking, right – ?”

"You lied to me, and I don’t like being lied to," she said.  "Pedro?”  She sat back in her chair, as if this conversation was over. 

He tried to get up, but he was grabbed from behind and shoved forcefully back into his seat.  He felt something stroke against his neck, soft as silk, and then it tightened sharply. 

He dug his fingers into his throat, trying to find the cord and claw it away from his windpipe, but it was biting down too deep.  His next panicked breath failed to come.  He arched his back against the chair and kicked, but his leverage was all wrong.  He couldn’t free himself.  This couldn’t be happening to him! 

He couldn’t scream, only stare at La Leona as she got up from the table. 

“Pedro, thank you,” she said.  “I’ll leave the rest of this business in your hands...” 

* * *

 

StripeSide paused to drink water from a bucket that had been brought to RoundAlpha’s command centre.  The sun had gone down, but the fire did not slow down, now that the sky was dark. 

StripeSide had watched the flight engine fly away over the rooftops, earlier.  The hatchlings were safe.  They were one less thing that she had to worry about.  MoonRain was eloquent and aggressive; she would protect the hatchlings.  SnoresLoudly spoke fluent HumanSign, and he knew towns.  The hatchlings would be safe, no matter what happened here.  

She was tired, but there was still work to do.  RoundAlpha had departed to have his evening meal, and StripeSide had been left in  command until he returned.  RoundAlpha had told the humans to follow her orders until he returned.  The one named FireAlpha had looked strangely at StripeSide, but he had not protested when she gave her commands.  

She was in sole command right now.  She was in command of a whole human town!  Just a month ago she had only commanded her own small pack! 

And she was alone here, without FirstHuman.  Always, she’d had FirstHuman at her side, to translate if needed.  Now she was alone.  FirstHuman had gone out there for fight; this was her fight, and she would have to fight it without his presence. 

And she _was_ fighting it, and winning!  She was busy, dispatching people this way and that – water, tools, man-power.  The command place was surrounded by electricity, and noise.  Humans and Real People ran this way and that, calling to each other, piling up equipment.  Engines rumbled.  The Fighters of Fire in their black-and-yellow jackets and helmets worked together as a pack, with hoarse calls, and minimal arguments.  Female humans came and went, bringing food and drinks for exhausted fighters, mammal and dinosaurs both.  The injured staggered in, mostly from inhaling too much smoke, and reeled unsteadily to the bright lights of the healing house. 

This one place was the centre of a battlefield.  The enemy came on, threatening her pack, and from here the Alpha of Alphas would defeat it.  She knew where every human and every dinosaur was, over the whole area.  She didn’t need to look down at the map.  She knew everything, all around, as if she held the entire town in her mind. 

If it had not been terrifying, it would have been exhilarating! 

“Alpha of Alphas!” someone sang up, their voice coming from far away.  That was JadeTapir. 

“I hear you!”  StripeSide shouted back. 

“We are in need of help here!” JadeTapir shouted.  “The humans say the fire is in danger of jumping over the line here!  We hold the fire back, but we need help!” 

“SlidingRocks!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, pitching her voice above the frequency the humans were using.  “Your humans are needed elsewhere!”

“I hear you, Alpha of Alphas!”

“I would have you move one mile west-north-west, to link with the team of JadeTapir!”  SlidingRocks had someone who could translate into human song with him.  “SlidingRocks, you will send with you what water you have, so that the fire does not attack the humans of JadeTapir!” 

“I hear you,” SlidingRocks shouted. 

“JadeTapir, I send SlidingRocks to you!” 

“Come quickly!” JadeTapir shouted.  “The fire leaps!” 

She had to tell the humans that she was moving a team around.  She spun around and grabbed a pen up.  She planted it against the board and wrote quickly. 

NEED MORE SUPPORT AT THIS PLACE.  THE FIRE LOOKS READY TO JUMP THE LINE.  SEND AURELIO AND HIS TEAM WITH THEIR PUMPS TO THAT PLACE RIGHT NOW!   

She hissed, drawing the attention of the human FireAlpha, who moved closer.  He saw her words,  picked his talking device and calling into it. She heard the talking device struggling to convert his song to a voice.  It crackled and spattered raucously. 

“Hurry!” JadeTapir called, shrilly.  “It comes now!  It is too hot, we fall back now!” 

StripeSide grabbed the pen and wrote one word. 

HURRY! 

The Fighter of Fires received a reply on his device and started to jog urgently.  He sang as he went, waving his other arm to his packmates in their yellow-and-black armour.  Humans were coming and going, and now they began to run this way and that. 

StripeSide spotted the glimmer of a red dot.  LoudVoice and her friend were recording with his device.  She did not have time for them now. 

Another Real Person ran in, and skidded to a stop.  “Alpha!” young FeatheryPest  shouted.  “We can see the fire now!” 

“See it?”  she echoed. 

“From the invisible person’s house!”

“From the top of the tower?” 

“No,” he said.  “From the ground!  We can _see_ it!” 

She abandoned the whiteboard and sprinted to follow FeatheryPest.  She was aware of three other Real People close behind her. 

She skidded to a stop.  The invisible person’s house was built on the highest point of the town.  From this side of the great building, the ground dropped away sharply.  She could see over the tops of the houses. 

The landscape at night was dark, and the sky was lit with stars.  But now, the dark planet was lit up from below, not from the stars.  A rim of dull gold and ochre glowed in the distance, casting a dull light upwards to the bottom of the smoke.  She could see tiny needles of brilliant light.  Flames, flickering.   Those must be _huge_ flames, if she could see them from so far away! 

“That was not there a minute ago!”  FeatheryPest called.  The youngster’s bloodheat flashed alarm.  “That is new!  It is moving!” 

StripeSide turned her back.  She was the Alpha of Alphas!  She could not afford to look frightened! 

“JadeTapir!” she shouted as loudly as she could.  “Pull back from where you are!” 

“It is above us!” JadeTapir shouted from the distance.  “It travels over our heads!  It flies too high for my humans here to fight it!” 

“Flee toward me!” SlidingRocks shouted.  “To the river!” 

“Tell the humans!” JadeTapir shouted.  “The fire jumped over the line!  It is behind them now, and they see it not!”

“Run, JadeTapir!” StripeSide shouted. 

“We are running now!" JadeTapir shouted.  "Tell the humans east of me to move back!   Or they will be cut off where they are!  Run, humans!  _Run!_    Pick _up_ your fat mammal feet and _run!_ No, drop that!  You!  _Leave it!_   We must go now!”  JadeTapir was shouting at the humans, regardless of whether they could hear her or not.  

StripeSide spun around.  She needed to cancel her last order.  She dashed back to the map table, to the whiteboard.  She grabbed the pen, and scribbled quickly, careless of her misshapen letters. 

CANCEL MY LAST ORDER!  IT IS TOO LATE!  THE FIRE HAS JUMPED OVER THE LINE! 

FireAlpha stared. 

WE CAN PUT IT OUT WHERE IT HAS CROSSED THE LINE.  WE MUST SEND MORE TEAMS THERE. 

NO!  StripeSide drew an angry circle around the word, the way she had once scribbled circles around her incoherent symbols to FirstHuman.  NO!  IT TRAVELS IN THE TREE TOPS!  TOO FAST!  TOO HIGH ABOVE YOUR HEADS!

He looked at her, then saluted, and whirled away, shouting hoarsely.  Grabbed up his communication device and started shouting orders.  She heard the rattle of the reply, as the humans on the other end shouted back. 

Her words stung them into movement as if she’d flung a rock into a beehive.  They were all moving; not sprinting but striding purposefully and shouting orders. 

“StripeSide!” BentTail said. 

“BentTail!” She spun around.  

“The fire is too strong for these humans,” he called.  He ran up, his talons curling under his breastbone.  He slammed to a stop in front of her.  “They have been outflanked!” 

“It jumped the stream into the thick trees,” YellowSnake said, at BentTail's side.  “And then it jumped over the line.” 

“Yes,” she said. “We have to pull them all back, or they will be cut off!” 

“This is no use!” BentTail said.  “This fire is too strong, too fast.  The humans cannot fight it!  We must flee!” 

“No, we must not!” she said.  “The humans are fighting this fire!” 

“They cannot!” BentTail insisted. 

“No power in the world can defeat fire,” YellowSnake said.  “They tried to fight it at the village, and they failed.  They have failed again.  They cannot save this town.  StripeSide, we must flee, now, and save ourselves!”

“They can fight it,” StripeSide said.  “Humans know fire.  Humans have always known fire.  Their species mastered fire millions of years ago!  They know fire, the way we know the hunt, and the ambush, and the minds of prey!  They know how to fight the fire.  They wait for the helicopter, and the helicopter will come!”

“Where is the helicopter?”  YellowSnake said.   “FirstHuman said he would bring it.  Where is he?  The fire burns on, and he has not come back.”

 “He will come!” StripeSide promised.  “You will see!  Never yet have I been let down by a human!”

“He will not come,” BentTail said.  “He cannot.  He is never coming back, StripeSide!  He has fallen.” 

“Not true!” StripeSide denied instantly.  He was alive.  Surely she would feel it if her bond-mate died?  Surely she would know if her world had been ripped apart?  

“This is folly,” BentTail said.  “This place is not even our place!  We have no eggs here!  You risk us all, for a principle!  This is madness!  We must run, StripeSide.”

“We must stay,” StripeSide said.  “I am the Alpha of Alphas, and this is what I say we must do.” 

“I do not accept that,” BentTail said. 

StripeSide retracted her head on her neck, shocked.  “You challenge me?” she demanded, horrified.  “Now?  Here?” 

“No, _I_ challenge you,” YellowSnake hissed,  lunging forward.  Her killing-claws were retracted.  “My bond-mate is there, fighting the fire for _your_ dreams.  I challenge you.  You endanger the Pack!”

“I fight _for_ the Pack,” StripeSide said. “If we are to stand side-by-side with humans we must prove to them that we are not beasts.  Never again will I be a beast!  Never!  We will be people, and we will fight as people!” 

“I don’t accept that,” YellowSnake said.  

“Then fight me!” StripeSide challenged.  

“There is no need to fight,” BentTail said.  “StripeSide!  Listen to reason!  Yes, this dream of yours is glorious.  We all think you are a mighty Alpha of Alphas!  We have all followed you here!  We do not want to fight you – but _this_ is madness!  This place _cannot_ be saved!  We must save ourselves!  Abandon this madness, and flee with us!” 

“No!” StripeSide said, throwing her jaws open and screaming at YellowSnake.  She could see the challenge now!  BentTail was cunning, and a skilled leader.  He had not the strength to fight StripeSide himself – but he had spoken to YellowSnake, and YellowSnake was young, and strong, and fast! 

“I will fight you if I have to!” YellowSnake said.  “But I do not want to!  Only to save the pack would I do this, StripeSide!” 

There was a hiss behind StripeSide.  BentTail looked up, and his bloodheat instantly dropped from, “I challenge!” to a demure “I acknowledge you!”

It was SilverNose. 

“If you fight her, you will also fight me,” SilverNose said, quietly.  She stopped, gazing back at her three juniors, her tail waving. 

There was a brief silence.  BentTail backed up, his neck snaking with sudden doubts. 

“Old One,” he said. 

“StripeSide is a fine alpha, and she has my support,” SilverNose said, and hiss-snapped. 

“She is mad!” BentTail said. 

“We Old Ones of the Island of Clouds are the holders of the memory of the Pack!” SilverNose said.  “We remember.  We hold the future and the past together!  StripeSide fights for the future so that it does not echo the past!  This is your Last Battle, and you would run away from it?  BentTail!  Hear me now!  Fight StripeSide, and you will fight me!”

“Not ever would I fight you.  I have no quarrel with you!” 

“You _make_ a quarrel with me!” SilverNose hissed. 

“Flee, if you would flee!” StripeSide said, pulling his attention back to herself.  “And you, YellowSnake!  Flee this Pack!  Go and join TravelsOverWater if you do not want to stand here!”

BentTail and YellowSnake looked at each other. 

StripeSide moved forward and snapped her teeth at YellowSnake.  “Fight or flee!  But I will not abandon this place!  I will not abandon my friends and my allies!  I will not run from this fight!  I ran not from the Mad Giant Person, I ran not from the helicopter, I will _not_ run now!  I will _never_ surrender!”

YellowSnake backed away.  “I will abide,” she said. 

“I will not,” BentTail said.  “I will cross the river, and flee.  And I will take my bond-mate with me.”

“Go, then,” StripeSide said.  She sprang up with a hiss and threw herself at them, her killing-claws lashing out. 

They pirouetted from her threat display and sprang away.  She landed, panting, and watched them bolt from her in the hunting run, fleeing at their top speed and accelerating away. 

SilverNose watched them go.  "Young ones," she sighed. 

“Thank you, Old One, for your support.” 

SilverNose turned her head, and looked at StripeSide out of one eye.  The shiny grey scars on her nose seemed to gleam.  She dropped her lower jaw, and rumbled through her old teeth. 

 “This world that you will build has my support, not you!  I did not stay for these humans, nor for this pack.  I stayed here for hatchlings as yet unhatched, for battles of the future that must never be fought.  No more should any of the Real People die as my mother did...  There will not again be a Last Battle.” 

“I will not fail.”

“Be sure that you do not, young one,” SilverNose said.  

She swung her old head around, and lumbered away.  There was something in her placid pace that reminded StripeSide of the Beast who had fought the Mad Giant Person at her side.  The Beast too had been old, and tired.  The Beast too had looked StripeSide up and down, and lumbered away amicably. 

StripeSide looked around.  The humans hadn’t even noticed that a succession battle had nearly broken out.  They were dashing about.  There was an urgency in their movements; as if they had been given fresh energy by a new threat.  

The fire-line had failed.  The fire was still coming on. 

StripeSide jogged back to the back of the invisible person’s house. 

She could see the flames again.  They seemed even closer.  It was still too far away to see its heat, from this distance, but it was creeping closer.  If she looked at it too long, she could imagine it reaching toward her, looking for her. If she stared at it too long, she got the feeling that it knew her by name, and was looking for her.   

Where was FirstHuman?  He had promised to bring the helicopter, and he had not come.  They needed him.  _She_ needed him. 

What if BentTail was right, she wondered.  What if he had fallen?  What if they were all waiting for a saviour who would not come? 

No, he could not have fallen.  They had been through too much together!  All the way from the Island of Clouds, and they had further to travel together!  After the Mad Giant Beast, and the helicopter, and the flight from the cage where they stole the baby Cloud People - after all that, he could not have fallen! 

But where was he now?  Why had he not come back?  The fire was coming, out of control.  They needed the helicopter, but FirstHuman had not come.  He was out there somewhere, beyond those flames, and he was missing.  

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People seem to like EatsPlants, so I gave the little guy his own story. Shameless fanservice ;)
> 
> I'm trying to post a chapter a week - but I'm not going to make it this week, the next chapter just isn't ready yet. Hang in there, the happy ending is in sight!


	11. Upriver with Owen

At that moment, Owen Grady was tired, and sweaty, and he smelled like smoke.  He stared up at the wall of rock above him.  “We have to get up _there,”_ he said. 

“And the sooner the better,” Michael Stonebridge agreed. 

The Hopeless Falls looked a whole lot higher than the first time Owen had seen them.  The sun was long gone now.  The cliffs had been flattened into a forbidding wall by the twilight, and the water looked cold. 

Owen turned and stared downstream again.  The eastern horizon was already dark, hiding the smoke. Here in the tropics, nightfall followed sunset very quickly, without a long twilight.  

It had taken them the rest of the afternoon to get here, even travelling as fast as they dared.  They’d had to steer the boats up the centre of the river until they had passed between the flames.  The air had been dark and thick, the flames visible and audible on either side.  Steering had been a matter of guesswork, trying to keep the flames equally on either side.  The heat of the flames, just a hundred metres away on either side, had been enough for the sweat to pour off them. They had to tie strips of cloth around their noses and mouths as make-do masks to keep the smoke out of their lungs. For a while Owen had thought they would not get through, that the smoke would be too thick and that they would be forced back, until the smoke cleared, and they were steering through the black zone behind the fire.   

The raptors had seen nothing of how close they had come.  Owen had told them to lie down in the bottom of the boats. The three men had covered them with tarps, so that no hot ash would land on their backs, and so that they did not breathe in smoke.   

Beyond the fire, in the safety of the black zone, the raptors had come out from under cover. They stared around at a frightening new world. 

The burned forest was still smouldering.  Black trees, still hot, stood like diseased bones against drifts of white ash.  Smoke was rising from the ashes like fog.  The only sound was the engines of the boats, chugging steadily through the destruction, over oily water slick with ash.  The fertile forest that Owen had walked through just a few days ago was gone. 

<It is dead,> Nyiragongo had signed, staring around.  His hide ran to a sickly grey  colour, and he let out a hatchling cry of distress.  <Dead, all!> 

<Not dead,> Owen had said.  <The trees will grow again.  The forest will live again.> 

 No, not dead, Owen said to himself as they travelled upriver.  Fire was part of life.    Fire had always been a part of life, in an oxygen-rich atmosphere.  Trees, plants, whole ecosystems had evolved to live with fire.Even the dinosaur’s ancestors had lived on a planet ruled by fire. 

Owen shook himself.  It was getting darker by the minute, he realized. They  had to move while they had the moonlight.  They’d had a five-minute break to refill their canteens; time to move on. 

“Okay,” he said.  “The longer we look at it, the higher it’ll get.  Let’s go.” 

“Lead on, MacDuff,” Scott said. 

“Where do we go?”  Stonebridge said. 

“Up,” Owen said, nodding his head toward the precipice above. 

“Walking into a minefield in the dark?” Stonebridge asked. 

 “It’s not dark to the Clouds,” Owen pointed out.  “They can see things we can’t.” 

“You trust them that much?” Scott asked. 

“Yeah,” Owen said.  “I trust them that much.”   

He sat down, unzipped his rucksack, and took out his torch.   He turned it on, and stuck it between his teeth to free his hands.  He picked up his rucksack again, and hitched it onto his shoulders. He picked up the AK47 he'd picked from Guerrero's armoury of confiscated weapons, and slung it over his shoulders. 

He turned to the three Clouds, and signed so that his flashlight glowed on his own hands.  <We are ready to go.> 

Nyiragongo timbered thoughtfully.  His hide bleached snowy white.  <We will stay white so that you may see us.> 

<The path is narrow, and the bombs are in the middle,> Copper signed.  <You must step only where we step.>

< You will not be able to walk directly behind us,> Nyiragongo said.  <We will make marks on the ground.  Step only where there is a mark, or upon rock.> 

<Be sure to take small steps,> Owen signed.  <We take a shorter stride than you.>

<Be sure that we will,>  Copper agreed. 

“Each of us is going to follow one of them,” Owen said.  “Keep directly behind them, and watch where they set their feet.  They’re going to mark up the ground with their claws.  Step where they’ve made a mark – _only_ where they’ve made a mark!  And if there’s rock, the rock is safe.”

“Ready,” Scott nodded.

Owen turned to Nyiragongo.   <We will start now,> Owen said. 

<The ground-bombs only start further up,> Copper said. 

<No, we will start now,> Owen said.  <Start here where there are no bombs, where mistakes will not yet be dangerous.> 

<I will lead the way,> Ash signed.  <I have brought a human here before.> 

<No, I will go up,> Copper said.  <I have been up the most often.> 

Ash didn’t sign a reply, but she must have said something, and whatever it was, it must have been rude.  Copper pulled herself up to her full height and screamed.  Nyiragongo withdrew out of reach of his sisters, hissing and lashing his tail. Both Clouds’ hides turned a bloody red. They screamed at each other, claws hooking the air threateningly. One more second and they would be fighting over dominance again.

“Oh, f’Chrissake!”  Owen snapped.  They did not have time for those two idiots to fight over which one of them got to be alpha! 

He leaped forward, wading between the two angry raptors. He slapped his hands together hard, making a sharp cracking sound.  “Hey!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "That’s _enough! Lock it up!”_  

Copper dropped her throat toward him and hissed, showing him all her teeth. 

“Copper!” he pointed his hand at her.  “Don't give me that shit! Lock it up.” 

Ash hissed. 

He whirled on her too.  “And you too!  Ash! Lock it up! Do not start with me!” 

Bellowing had got their attention.  <That’s enough!> he signed, making sure to flick his elbows as he signed – the Raptor Sign equivalent of snapping irritably.  <Both of you!  I command here!  I make the decisions here!  Now is not the time for fighting!>

Ash withdrew, dipping her head.  She let her colour fade into pale grey. 

Copper snarled. 

Owen spun around to face her.  “Don’t even bloody _think_ about it, sister!”  he shouted at her. He followed his shout with a sign.   <Ash will go first.  Copper will follow.  Nyiragongo will go last!  That is _my_ decision! > 

They couldn’t give way to each other without a fight – but _both_ could yield to the queen raptor's bond-mate without losing face to the other.  He had StripeSide behind him.  He was her Beta in her absence – and all eight Clouds were terrified of the queen raptor. 

Copper took a step back away from him, her tail snaking, keeping eye contact but signalling her submission.  Her colour seeped back to white again. <You command here!>  Ash snarled, and hiss-snapped, her teeth clacking shut.

<Copper,> he pointed at her, <You will take SmokeyOne under your charge!  And Ash will take BridgeOfStone.  And I will go with FireMountain!  I command here and this is what I say we will do!> 

Owen spun around.  “Right, let’s go!” he declared to Scott and Stonebridge. 

He stopped short.  Both soldiers were staring at him with bug-eyed amazement.  They'd backed away from the three Clouds. Both of them had fingers on their triggers.  They were staring as if Owen had just turned water into wine in front of them.

“What?” he asked. 

“How did you just _do_ that?”  Scott gasped. 

“I told them to knock it off,” Owen said. 

“You just waded into a pair of pissed-off velociraptors and told them to _knock it off!_  And they _did!”_   Stonebridge’s mouth pulled down at the corners in disbelief. 

“What?” Owen said.

“You’re a fuckin’ bad-ass!”

 “I’m just a Navy guy with a training clicker,”  Owen shrugged his shoulders.   "And we don’t have time for them to squabble over dominance right now." 

“The man tells velociraptors to _knock it off!_ , and says he’s not a bad-ass,” Scott rolled his eyes.  "Un-fucking-believable."

Owen shook his head.  “You’re going to follow Ash,” he said to Stonebridge.  “And Scott is going to follow Copper – that one!  I’m going to bring up the rear with Gongo.  Understand?” 

"Man who gives orders to velociraptors makes the rules," Stonebridge said. 

Owen turned to the three white raptors.  <We go, now!> he commanded. 

Ash hissed and turned around, her tail swinging. Stonebridge moved to follow her.  Copper followed Stonebridge, and Scott followed Copper. 

Nyiragongo watched them start on the path, and signed to Owen, <They fight too much.> 

Then Nyiragongo swung to follow Scott, and Owen walked after him.  He dipped his big head almost to the ground, and began to walk. 

Owen followed.  He kept the flashlight on the backs of Nyiragongo’s feet, trudging ahead.  It was impossible to step immediately into Nyiragongo’s steps.  His thick tail was almost at the height of Owen’s head,  preventing  Owen from walking right behind him. 

But the torchlight revealed ruts in the ground.  The Clouds were flexing their sharp scimitar claws into the leaf-litter, breaking the path so that the humans could make no mistake.  At the end of the line, Owen had the deepest marks to follow.

Nyiragongo twisted his head back to make sure that Owen was following him.  His eye glittered in the light of Owen’s flashlight.  Satisfied, the Cloud faced forward again. 

It was slow progress. 

Each stride was difficult.  It came naturally for a man to pick his own footfalls, but adjusting to another’s pace over rough ground put him off his rhythm.  At every stride, he had to override his urge to set his foot just this side of the marks, or on that log, or that pebble.  Every step needed his full concentration. He kept his head down, ignoring Nyiragongo’s tail, focusing on his thick white legs in the circle of the flashlight. 

And the path was climbing already.  Nyiragongo’s tail was above him, and he seemed closer to the white heels.  He had to dig with his thighs to climb uphill.  Within a few minutes, his breath was coming hard.  

Owen took a moment to look up.  They were close to the cliff.  The stars were bisected with a looming black wall.  He scanned the torch around them.  The ground was dark on all sides, hidden in deep foliage.  Insects were already singing.  It was hard to imagine the lethal threat hidden in that innocent grass.

Nyiragongo’s pace was slow, measured.  The great pads of his heels expanded at each step, to absorb his huge weight.   Owen was suddenly, horrifyingly reminded of the Indominus Rex.  She’d had almost  the same massive avian feet, and Owen had got a close-up of them when he’d been hiding under the InGen truck. 

But the Clouds were not the Indominus Rex, Owen told himself.  He’d raised these three hatchlings.  He knew their names, their characters.  He knew them far more intimately than he’d known Blue in the cage at Jurassic World, thanks to Raptor Sign.  The Indominus Rex was a tragedy that her eight successors would not repeat. 

He was losing focus, he realized.  He could not afford to lose focus.  He could tell by Nyiragongo’s varying strides that there were still mines beneath him, invisible danger that they were stepping over.  He aimed the flashlight at Nyiragongo’s heels. 

The track was climbing steadily, occasionally slipping over large boulders.  They were moving up the wall; climbing up some ancient path that had been carved out over centuries. Twice, Owen had to grip his flashlight in his teeth and scramble up on hands and knees.  The path they were following switched back and forth, and then suddenly there was a sharp drop on Owen’s right side. 

Owen put his hand out, and felt the rock on his left side.  It was still warm to the touch from the heat of the afternoon sun. The path underfoot grew more narrow at every step. 

No-one spoke.  Everyone was watching their feet, keeping their heads down.  Owen was aware of Scott’s flashlight flickering ahead of him, beyond Nyiragongo, but he paid no attention.   They were walking into danger, picking their way through a deadly hazard.  Now was not the time for speech.  Now was the time for watching their feet, and watching the raptors. There were still mines hidden on this path, even up here…

They made silent progress.  By now it was fully night.  Below was only darkness, and it was impossible to see how high they were.  The sounds of the jungle had faded away beneath them.  The only sound in Owen’s ears was the occasional snot-snarl of the raptors, and his own heavy breathing.  Sweat was tricking into his eyes, and his thighs were burning from the constant climb. 

The path grew narrower, until Owen was stepping on a narrow ledge of stone, just wide enough for his boots.  He was stepping on rock now, too solid for mines.  He put his flashlight between his teeth, using one hand on the rock to steady himself, and the other outstretched over the drop for balance. 

Nyiragongo stopped, and Owen stopped.  There was a hold-up ahead.  He took the flashlight out of his teeth. 

“What’s the hold-up?” he called.  

“There’s a rope!”  Stonebridge called.  “Go up, or across?”

“What’s the raptor doing?” 

“She jumped.”

“Then go up!”

Nyiragongo was already turning to face Owen – wedging his tail against the rock and swinging his forehand out over the sheer drop to their right.  Nyiragongo’s eyes glittered in the flashlight as he looked back at Owen.  <There is a rope.  Tell him he must climb it.  All is stone now, and safe.  No bombs up here.> 

<How will you get up?>

<We must jump.>

<Jump?> 

Gongo swung his head from side to side, staring at Owen out of one eye after the other.   <To climb is easy for you!  Your people are monkeys.  We must jump.>

Owen put the flashlight back in his teeth, and followed Nyiragongo.  The path wound further, until Nyiragongo stopped and turned to face the rock wall.  He settled back onto his haunches with a waggle of his tail, and then launched himself up.  He disappeared vertically.  There was a shriek above Owen, and the scrabble of claws on stone.  Pebbles tumbled down. 

“You all right?”  Owen shouted.  He turned the flashlight up, but saw nothing above him but rock and the night sky. 

“We’re good!”  Scott shouted.  “Come up!” 

“Coming up!” Owen yelled. 

He could see the rope now.  It hung loosely against the rock from above.   This cleft of rock they had been walking along went further,  but the rope led up, and _up_ was where the raptors had gone.   He pushed the torch into his pocket.  He’d drop it if he kept it between his teeth now.  He seized the thick plaited rope in his hands, and leaned back over the drop.  The cord receded up over the stone, and out of sight. 

He took up the weight of the rope, and leaned back.  He picked up one foot and pushed it against the wall, pushing himself out against the rope, holding himself up with his arms.  The weight of the AK47 and his rucksack tried to tug him backwards.  He could feel his shoulders straining.  He picked up his other leg, trusting his whole weight to the rope and his shoulders, and took another step.  He gathered in the rope, and took another vertical step.  And another step.  One step at a time, he hauled his way up the rope, and over the boulder.  As he climbed up, the rock sloped in again and became horizontal, until finally he was simply walking. 

“We’re up!” Stonebridge said, coming to meet him. 

“Take a look,” Scott said.  His teeth glinted in the moonlight. 

Owen turned, and looked back the way they’d come.  

They stood on the lip of the plateau, on a broad bulge of stone.  Trees crowded against their backs, right on the edge.   The night’s chorus sang just behind them.  Off to one side, he could hear the rumble of tons of water, tumbling off the shelf of rock and down into the dark. 

The sky was dark overhead,  sprinkled with the Milky Way.  But the landscape below him was not dark.  The eastern horizon was a wall of gold.  Above the golden thread the night sky was brown; the dense smoke was lit up from below by flames.    

At this distance the flames looked tiny, like little needles. 

“Jesus,” Owen said.    

“It’s bigger than I thought,” Scott said.

Ash ambled out onto the edge of rock.  She leaned down, planting her forehands on the stone and craning her blocky head over the edge, as if she was trying to see the pool of water at the base of the cliff.  She  made a deep gurgling sound. 

She pushed herself upright again, and turned to Owen.  <It is a very fine sight. Sometimes you can see the lights of the town from here,> she signed.  <I brought SmallVoice up here, and he took pictures.> 

Owen stared at her, shocked.  <Clarify?> he signed.  <You brought SmallVoice up  here?>

<He put the rope there,> she said. 

Owen was going to have a few words in private with Cristian's father.  How did the kid get all the way up here anyway?  It was a long way from town even by boat.  How did he get up here on foot?

They were a long way from town, but they were also a long way from the Gomez villa.  They had to get going. 

<There are ground-bombs here?> Owen asked. 

<Yes,> Ash said.  <But we can steer you around them all.  We will follow our own path.> 

<Then lead on.> 

"Scott," Owen said.  "Stonebridge.  We've moving." 

They kept walking through the darkness.  For a long time, no-one spoke.  Each just kept his eyes open and his mouth shut, and concentrated on keeping up with the others. 

It was dark as pitch up here.  This was old forest.  They were walking under mature trees that had reached their full height, as tall as office blocks.  The tallest trees blocked the sunlight from reaching any younger trees beneath them, and now they kept the moonlight out as well.  Owen’s trousers brushed through ferns and broad leafy bushes as he walked.  The forest floor was thick and moist, and their boots made almost no sound.  In the rainforest the weather was never cold, and there was almost no wind under the thick layer of forest above. 

He trudged through the forest, stepping high through the ferns, his old weapon slung on his shoulders.  He kept the flashlight moving from side to side, scanning the ground.  Ash was still in the lead, with Nyiragongo shepherding them on their flanks.

They took a break after an hour of walking.  Owen found a space between bushes and sat down on his heels.  He drank from his canteen.  The Clouds went away through the trees, jogging to the river to drink.  High above, the moon glinted, as the branches shifted in the breeze that didn’t reach the ground. 

Their flashlights didn't seem to extend their vision very far.  The forest pressed down on them all around, as if the were inside a cave.  The night was peaceful.  The fires burning a few miles away did not disturb the night birds, or the insects. 

The noise was broken by a loud roar.  **_“A-Rhaaaaaa-hoo…!”_**  

Owen jumped in shock and dropped his canteen. 

 _“A-Rhaaaaaa-hoo…!”_  The bellow died away into a series of rasping snarls, and then repeated.  **_“_** _A-Rhaaaaaa-hoo…! Hoooooooo!   Huh huh huh!”_  

 _“What_ the _fuck_ was that?” Scott bellowed.  He bounded to his feet.  His AR-15 snapped up to his shoulder.    

“Take it easy!” Owen called up to him.  “It’s just a howler monkey.  A red howler, _Alouatta seniculus.”_

 ** _“_** _A-Rhaaaaaa-hoo…! Huh huh huh!”_  the bellow sounded again.  Howlers could be heard from miles away,  but _this_ one was close, and it was shouting after dark, which was unusual.  

“You telling me a _monkey_ is doing all that?” Scott said.  

" _Huh-huh-huh-huh-huh!  Rhaaaaaa rhaaaa …!_ Another howler started up, interlocking with the sounds of the first one, and the night was filled with the unearthly roaring.  _“Rhaaaaaa…!  Huh huh huh huh…”_  

“They’re probably caught wind of the raptors, and they’re sounding the alarm,” Owen said. 

“Will the raptors eat them?” Stonebridge asked. 

“The raptors will eat anything they can catch,” Owen said.  “But they don’t often catch monkeys.  They can’t get into the canopy.” 

The racket went on for a long time, echoing and re-echoing around the forest as if they were in a cave.

Three ghostly figures formed up from the darkness.  The three Clouds walked into the light of their flashlights.  Owen turned his flashlight, playing the circle of light over them.  They walked up, and Ash came forward.  The other two flanked her, head turning this way and that, tails waving. Their snouts were wet. 

This looked like a deputation, Owen thought.  He stood up, facing them head-on, meeting them. 

Ash walked up to Owen, and stopped in front of him.  She looked at him out of one eye, and her killing-claw tapped the ground.  <This takes too long,> she signed. 

<True, we must walk now.> 

Ash cocked her head and stared at him.  <You walk too slowly.  We will not reach the Lioness’s lair by morning  this way,> Ash signed. 

<We can walk no faster.>

<I have a better idea,>  she signed.  <I have another way to travel.> 

He stared at her white talons in the glow of his flashlight. <Clarify?> 

<You sit upon our backs,> Ash said, <And we will carry you.> 

<No!> Owen signed.  He pulled his brows down as low as he could, and shook his head firmly. 

<Yes,> Ash said, snaking her head diagonally, politely, so that her rebuttal was not rude.  <I have been carrying SmallVoice.  He rides upon my back, and we go very fast.> 

<Your walk too slowly,> Copper said, standing at Ash’s side.  <We can travel much faster if we carry you.>

<Much, much faster,> Nyiragongo agreed. 

< You are heavier than SmallVoice,> Ash said.  <But if I can carry him, we can carry you.> 

<Tell them,> Nyiragongo said, from Ash’s other flank.  <Suggest it.> 

<You are not a beast, to be ridden upon!>  Owen insisted. 

Nyiragongo thrust himself forward.  

<StripeSide told us what we are,> he signed. <She told us who we are.  The WhiteCoatSorcerer made us to be beasts of war, she said.  Well, if we were meant to be beasts of war, then let us be beasts of war.>

<Humans ride upon animals,> Owen said.  <You are not animals.>

<If we are not animals,> Nyiragongo said, and he twisted his head around to look at Scott, <then the choice is ours to make.  If we are not animals, then consent is ours to give or withhold, and we choose to give it.  We choose to fight, as these two humans do.  Just as it is their choice to let us carry them, or not.> 

<And this is temporary,> Ash signed.  <I have a human of my own already, and he is much better than either of these!  I will do this, and then I will return to SmallVoice.> 

<And above all,> Nyiragongo said, <We need the blade-and-clatter.  This we need.  Without the blade-and-clatter, the town will burn.  It may already be burning, for all we know!  Time is pouring away!> 

<Suggest it to them,> Copper signed.  < Tell them.  We can carry them, so that we can fight together.> 

Owen bit the inside of his lip, staring at Copper.

The Clouds were bigger than the other velociraptors, Owen thought.  Had that been deliberate?  Had that been Wu’s plan from the start?  Wu had said that the eight hatchlings already had handlers lined up, ready to train them - Special Forces soldiers, just like Scott and Stonebridge.  ' _Imagine what these puppies would have done if they’d had them in Tora Bora,'_ Lowery had quoted Hoskins, in disgust. 

“Okay, what’s the hold-up?” Scott’s voice broke into Owen’s concentration. 

“They’re got an idea,” Owen said.  He held up one hand to the three Clouds in the Wait sign, and held it there.  He turned his head to look at Scott and Stonebridge.  Both soldiers were looking at him in alarm.  “And it’s a whack-job crazy idea, but they want me to run it by you guys, so I’m going to.” 

“Okay?” 

Scott and Stonebridge exchanged glances. 

“She says we can’t get there in time,” Owen said.  “It’s too far, and we walk too slowly, but they say there’s another way.  They say they can carry us.”

“Carry us?” Stonebridge asked. 

“Carry us on their backs,” Owen said.  “Like horses. But I told her it’s not necessary.  We can make it on foot, if we hurry.”

Stonebridge straightened his back.  His hooked nose stayed pointed at Owen, but his blue eyes rolled sideways to look at his partner.  The flashlight lit his square face from below like a sculpture.  “Huh,” he said. 

“Hmm,” Scott said, and rubbed his chin. 

The two soldiers looked at each other for a second, as if communicating silently. 

“Hate to say it, but the mission comes first,” Scott said.  “Get in, get the chopper.  That’s the mission.” 

“And we’ve been here before,” Stonebridge said.  “This terrain is laced with trip-wires and land-mines." 

“If they’re making the offer,” Scott said, “I say we do it.” 

“They’re not horses,” Owen said. 

“They’re not horses, but they would make fuckin’A combat troops,” Scott said. 

“Don’t say that,” Owen said. 

“Why not?” 

“Because that’s _why_ we shouldn’t do this,” Owen said.  “They were _built_ to be combat troops.” 

“Built…?” 

“They were built," Owen said.  "Designed.  They're not full velociraptors - they're genetically modified hybrids.  They were put together like a patchwork quilt…”

“What?  Why?" Scott asked. 

“InGen thought they could be used as experimental combat animals," Owen said.  "They thought they could be trained to fight, like dogs.  Beasts of war.  Living weapons.  Expendable.  Disposable – because everyone knows extinct animals have no rights.” 

“Do they know that?” 

“Yeah, they know that,” Owen said. 

“And they’re still offering?” Scott said.  “They know the implications, but they’re still offering?  That means something, buddy.  It means they’re volunteering.” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“They’re not serving _us,”_ Scott added.  “They’re serving each other.  There's a difference.” 

“It’s their decision,” Stonebridge said.  “It’s their mission as much as ours.  More than ours, really.  It's not our town we're fighting for. Tell 'em, yes, we'll do it."  

Owen turned back to the Clouds, who had been watching the conversation closely, heads turning back and forth as if they were watching a debate. 

Owen hesitated.  To climb on their backs as if they were horses seemed undignified.  They were apex predators, not docile pets.  They were wild.  They were proud.  They were independent.  StripeSide was adamant that her people would never be treated like animals again. She knew what a horse was, and she would explode with rage at the very thought of one of her people being ridden like one.  She would be furious, and most of her anger would boil over onto Owen. 

Well, he decided, so be it.  She would be angry, but he was going to fetch the helicopter. He would handle her anger when he told her about it, and he would keep her fury from the Clouds. 

<How do you suggest we do it?>  he asked. 

Ash made a long metallic hiss, her long tongue lifted against her teeth.  <SmallVoice puts a belt around my neck to hold on, so that he does not fall off.  You have belts; use them as anchors.> 

It took a few minutes to sort out the details. 

Owen sorted out the instant dominance squabble between Ash and Copper by decreeing that they would ride as they had climbed.  That meant that Nyiragongo would carry Owen, which was a good thing, because he knew that StripeSide was likely to be less outraged by Nyiragongo, whom she secretly liked.  Ash would carry Stonebridge. Copper would carry Scott. 

Belts took a few more minutes.  The Clouds had thick necks.  Stonebridge had a lean waist, and his belt did not reach around Ash’s neck, but he sacrificed the sleeves of his shirt and used that instead.  Rucksacks were tightened, and weapons were slung carefully over their backs.  Ten minutes after the suggestion was made, they were ready to go. 

Nyiragongo turned in front of Owen, his tail swaying in a leisurely sine-wave.  <Use my knee to climb up,> he signed. 

Owen slipped his torch into his pocket.  <Apologies if I hurt you,> he said. 

Nyiragongo blinked his eyes.  <You will not hurt me, my hide is tough,> he signed. 

He doubled up his hind-legs under him.  With his huge muscled thighs bent at right angles, his stifle joint was a steady foothold.  He planted his forehands on the ground, and stared silently back at Owen over his shoulder. 

“Okay,”  Owen said.  He reached his hands up to Nyiragongo’s spine, bent up his left leg to set his boot on top of the Cloud’s stifle, and bounced on his other toe for momentum.  “One, two, three, alley _-oop!”_   He landed across Nyiragongo’s back with his chest across the dinosaur’s spine, and kicked his other leg across. 

Nyiragongo stayed still for a moment, and then slowly stood up. 

“Whoa!” Owen said, clutching at the belt at the base of Nyiragongo's neck.  Nyiragongo’s spine seemed to be rising vertically like a rearing horse.  Owen could feel himself slipping backwards, as if he was going to slide over his tail.  Nyiragongo twisted his head back to look at him, and Owen felt the movement run through the hard body under him.  

Ash stood up to her full height next to him and brought her talons up so he could see her signing.  <Sit back over his hips,> she signed.  <Too far forward you are, and much too easy to fall.  More stable further back.> 

Owen shifted backwards.  Nyiragongo watched him over his own shoulder.  Ash whirled away.  

Nyiragongo took a step, and Owen could feel every movement under him.  He clutched at the belt, as Nyiragongo took a few strides away, and turned around to face his sisters again.  The long scaled neck disappeared forward as Nyiragongo lowered his head and hissed.

Well, if he fell off, he fell off.  He’d fallen off hundreds of horses; this wasn’t much higher than that.  He forced his muscles to relax.  A rigid body would only make him fall harder. 

“Right,” Owen said, faking a confidence he did not feel.  He turned to look down at Stonebridge and Scott.  "Now, you two.” 

Ash ducked to the ground, and Stonebridge reached up to grip the top of her spine. Stonebridge clearly knew how to ride a horse.  He made it up on his first attempt, and found the sleeve-reins.  Ash straightened up immediately and stepped away.  Stonebridge wobbled, but didn’t fall off.   

“Here we go!” Scott sprang up onto Copper’s back, and fell straight off over her other side.  He landed in the dark with an audible thump.  Copper sprang around and snarled down at him. 

“You okay?” Owen called. 

“I’m okay!” Scott rolled back up to his feet again.  He made it up on the second attempt. 

“Okay!”  Owen took a hand off the belt and raised it until he caught Ash’s attention.  <Moving!> he signed. 

She dropped her head low, her talons flexing in the air.  She screamed shrilly into the dark, with all her teeth bared. 

Nyiragongo swung his long neck around, and took a step.  A moment later they were walking.

Not like a horse at all, Owen thought. 

Nyiragongo walked with a two-beat lateral stride, instead of the rolling four-beat pace of a horse.   Each step brought the raptor’s hip sagging toward the ground, and his footfall was a jarring thump.  The sudden _drop-thump drop-thump_ made Owen feel as if he was going to be tipped off the side at every stride. 

He was perching on the broadest part of Nyiragongo’s back, with the narrows of the dinosaur's chest in front of him.  The spine under him sloped sharply upward to his shoulders and neck. Nyiragongo's thighs were just under Owen's legs.   If Owen let go of the belt, he would slip backwards over his tail. 

"Raptor cavalry," Stonebridge muttered.  "I've gone and joined the _raptor cavalry."_  

Owen couldn't blame him for grumbling.  There was a certain level where ‘cool’ became _too_ cool to really _be_ cool.  Riding a motorcycle next to a raptor was cool.  Riding Vivian Krull’s stolen bike between StripeSide and WingWatch had been cool. This was just embarrassing. 

He wasn’t even _riding._   He was just clinging to Nyiragongo’s back, being carted along helplessly like a piece of luggage. 

If Barry could see him now, he would bust a gut laughing.  And then Barry would get onto Whatsapp, and tell his panoply of Congolese cousins, and _they’d_ all bust a gut laughing at Uncle Owen joining the raptor cavalry.  Hell, no!  A man had to maintain his dignity. 

And Owen's dignity was already precarious, after 'bond-mate.'  If he let anyone know about this, it was going to turn into another ‘bond-mate,’  and embarrass him for _years_ to come.  

He could hear Stonebridge’s voice behind him.  “This is the most insane mission I’ve ever been on,” Stonebridge said.  “You, Scott – you attract weird stuff like a magnet, but this is something else, even for you.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Scott whooped.  “This is awesome!  We’re dinosaur riders!  Yee-hah!  I want a sword, like Jack Churchill!  Teddy Roosevelt had nothing on _us!”_    

“If this goes on your damn Facebook page, I swear I’ll shoot you myself!"  Stonebridge warned. 

“If you tell _StripeSide_ about this, I’ll shoot both of you!” Owen interrupted. 

He took one hand off his belt to glare back at them.  He couldn’t see them in the dark, but he could make out the other two Clouds following him like ghosts. 

“She does not hear about this!” Owen said.  “Their whole society is based on jealousy.  If she hears about this, she’ll flip.  She’ll go ape.  She has to hear it from me, or she'll go bananas.”

"Jealous girlfriend," Stonebridge said. 

“It’s these hetero-species relationships,” Scott said. “They’re always _so_ complicated.” 

“Hetero- _what?”_ Owen echoed, horrified.  He twisted his head around to glare at Scott, but he was forced to clutch at the belt as Nyiragongo suddenly accelerated. 

They were jogging now, going faster. 

Owen felt his balance shift as Nyiragongo’s body tipped down.   The footsteps were faster now, drumming under him. 

Owen found himself clinging desperately to the belt.  Riding a raptor was a lot harder than riding a horse!   He couldn’t even squeeze with his legs, because Nyiragongo’s legs were moving right under Owen's knees.  He tried to balance as far back as he could, but he kept sliding forward onto Nyiragongo’s shoulders.  And horses had hair; raptors had rough scales.  He didn’t want to know what kind of saddle sores he was getting from the side-to-side jiggling. 

He managed to peel his head sideways.  He could see the ghostly outline of another white head and neck on his left side – and another on his right. 

Well, they _were_ covering ground.  They were moving far faster than humans could.  The waist-deep ferns and creepers that had slowed them down were slipping past on the level of Owen’s boots.  Ash was right; they couldn’t have made as good time on foot. 

Someone on Owen’s right shrieked.  Nyiragongo seemed to leap forward under him, thrusting Owen backwards.  Between one moment and the next, Owen was flying.

 _Jesus!_ He clutched at the belt, desperately, trying not to be thrown backwards. 

They were running flat-out now, heads down.  They ran with their weight tipped forward, like a sprinter in the starting blocks.  With all their weight forward, their huge hind legs operated like springs, bounding and recoiling.  Each stride packed up the kinetic energy for the next.

StripeSide and her sisters had raced alongside his motorbike like this on the night the Indominus escaped.   He would never forget that night; the last time he’d had all his girls  alive together. 

But this… this wasn’t his glorious Blue.  This was _horrible._ By comparison, StripeSide floated over the forest like a ballerina! 

Nyiragongo’s body was all _wrong._   His spine whipped from side to side like an arrow in flight as he ran.   His footsteps were like jackhammers.  The forward slope of his shoulders threatened to throw Owen forward onto the back of his neck at every  stride.  His hide was like sitting on a sack of cobblestones! 

Cristian did this for fun?   Cristian must be _insane!  
_

And then Nyiragongo found an obstacle in his way, and decided to jump.  There was a check in his stride, and then Owen’s stomach dropped as the Cloud leaped.  They seemed to float in the air for a long second.  Nyiragongo’s feet hit the ground together on the other side of the obstacle with a hard thump. 

The impact threw Owen forward, and a second later he was coming loose.  His fingers grabbed at Nyiragongo’s  neck.  Nyiragongo tried to twist under him to keep him in place, but Owen could feel himself flying forward. 

The world seemed to flip, and the ground came up and slammed against his back. 

Owen coughed.  He wasn't dead.  He coughed again, and rolled over.   His hands and face were full of soil and wet leaves.  He spat something gritty out of his mouth, and pushed himself up to sit.  “Uh-h-h!”  

A flashlight flicked on, and Owen registered a shadow fall over him.  He looked up into a broad white snout filled with jagged grinning teeth.  The jaws opened and a gust of hot breath spilled over his face.  He couldn’t tell them apart by face alone, but there was no-one sitting on this one.  The space at his sides was immediately filled by the other two.  All three peered down at Owen. 

“You okay down there, mate?” Stonebridge called. 

“I’m good,”  Owen grunted.  The ground was hard, and his body hurt all over, but nothing seemed to be broken.  He spat out more soil. "I'll live." 

“You hit the ground so hard you bounced,” Scott said.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Owen said.  

“His hat blew off, and he just climbed off to fetch it,” Scott observed from Copper’s back. 

Owen laughed.  He’d heard that exact line from his grandfather.  Not that his _grandfather_ had ever fallen off a dinosaur. 

Nyiragongo timbered deeply. 

<I am all right,> he signed to Nyiragongo. 

<What amuses you?>

<I am the first person ever to fall off a Real Person,>  Owen said. 

<Not so,> Nyiragongo signed.  <SmallVoice has fallen off five times.>

Cristian needed his head examined, Owen thought. 

Ash lowered her head into Owen’s view.  <And _he_ always gets up again. > 

There was a message there for Owen.  <I too am getting up again,> Owen declared.  He followed the sign by climbing up to his feet.  He knocked rotting leaves off his clothes. 

His rucksack had fallen off, and it took him a few moments to locate his gun.  He picked up the AK47 and checked the mechanism, but old Mikhail had designed his gun to stand rougher handling than just falling off a dinosaur.  He slung the rifle back over his shoulder. 

He was going to hurt like hell by tomorrow.  He could already feel impressive bruises down the insides of his legs from Nyiragongo’s knobbled hide, and now he was going to add sprains on his neck and shoulder too.  Tomorrow was going to be _fun._

<We will go a little slower,> Ash decided, looking right and left at her sisters.  <We cannot run with these humans, they fall and they bounce.>

<Even jogging gently is fast enough,> Owen signed. <No more running, please.> 

* * *

 

They reached the villa at a little after midnight, according to the Clouds.  The moon was still up, but low on the horizon.  If they did not fly soon, it would be difficult to fly at all. 

The Clouds had led them through the night without error, straight here.  They asked their riders to dismount, and walked carefully the rest of the way to the river bank. 

Owen walked to the edge of the river.  He sat down on his heels, well under the overhanging branches so that the other side of the river could not see him. 

He was still breathing heavily.  His body ached all over, as if he’d been beaten with a club.  The sweat was still slick on his body, and the mosquitoes found him as soon as he stopped moving.  But they were here. 

The river gurgled past a few yards away, beyond a layer of slick mud.  On the other side of the river, bright lights showed where the Gomez villa lay along the opposite bank. 

“Back again,” Scott murmured at his side. 

“Place hasn’t changed much, has it?” Stonebridge murmured. 

“The floodlights are new,” Scott observed. 

“I suppose that means we taught them something?” 

“Yeah, we’re all about life-long-learning in this man’s army.” 

Owen ignored them. He could smell the grease-paint smeared on his face, and the thick vegetable smells of decomposing forest.  All around him, the song of the forest carried on – distant birds and insects, and millions of frogs clicking and clacking along the river. 

He turned his head slowly.  He could see the Clouds, standing out on the river bank.  They were standing in plain view, trusting their camouflage.  To Owen they were silhouetted against the lights, but they would be invisible from the other side of the river. 

He looked across the river again. 

The Gomez villa advertised its presence with bright lights.  Searchlights were rolling over the grounds from guard towers.  Floodlights cast pools of light over lawns and stucco walls.  Palm trees were silhouetted against the glare.  He could see terraces, and colonnades, and guards patrolling.  He could see a swimming pool on his right.  He could even see the flickering of a TV set, glowing through drawn curtains in an upstairs window. 

It looked peaceful.  The people in there were oblivious to the hostile eyes watching from the dark.  He tightened his grip on the old AK-47.  Those _peaceful_ people were his enemies.  Those people set the fires that had killed BitterTooth; that threatened StripeSide, and everybody in San Judas Tadeo.   

“I can’t see any sign of a helicopter,” he said. 

“The helipad is the other side of the compound,” Scott breathed.  “Ten o’clock.  Just beyond that guard tower.  If it’s here, it’s there.” 

It was going to be impossible to sneak in there.  The place was too heavily-guarded, and too brightly-lit.  Even the Clouds would have trouble getting in there. 

 “Scott?”  Stonebridge murmured. 

“I have five X-Rays,” Scott said.  “One on the lawn, two on the terraces, two in the towers.” 

“I have six X-rays,” Stonebridge said.  “There’s one there under that tree at two-fifteen.  I saw him light a cigarette.” 

“Lucky bastard,” Scott said.  “I see him.  Confirm, six X-rays.”    

“Let’s ask the Clouds how many _they_ have,” Owen said. 

“They’ve got good night vision?” 

“They can see thermal radiation, like snakes.” 

“Thermal sensing?” Scott asked.  “Jeeze, they _would_ make fuckin’-A combat troops!” 

Owen’s stomach went sour.  “Tell me about it,” he muttered.  “Come on!” 

He got to his feet and backed away from the water, back into the shadow of the trees.  He made a quick click of his tongue, drawing a raptor to look at him. 

<We go to make plans,> he signed, knowing that they could see him. 

They put the river behind them, and walked far enough that their flashlights would not glow between the trees.  They hunkered down to talk quietly. 

“It’s going to be real tricky, sneaking in there and stealing the chopper,” Owen said. 

“Who says we’re going to _sneak?”_ Stonebridge said. 

“Frontal attack?” Owen said.  _“That’s_ daring.” 

“It’s too well-lit,” Stonebridge said.  “Hit hard, hit fast, get out with the chopper.” 

“It’ll take me a couple of minutes to start the chopper,” Scott said.  “Maybe three, since I’m not going to sit there and do pre-flight checks.” 

“Last time, we went in through the access road, through the servants’ houses and over the gardens,” Stonebridge said.  “Owen?  Ask the Clouds if the servants’ housing is still there, at the back.” 

Owen turned to the three Clouds.  He thumbed his flashlight on, and put it between his teeth again.  He signed, <We have a plan to get in through the back through the houses where the Lioness’s servants live.  Are you familiar with that path?  Is it open?  Is it practical?> 

<It is open,> Ash said.  <But it is not the best way.> 

<There is an easier path,> Copper said.  <A path that is unguarded, because no human intruder would dare to follow it.>

<How?  Where?>

<Through the cages,> Nyiragongo signed.  Owen turned the flashlight to him.    

<Cages?> Owen asked.  <Clarify?>

<Cages for the cats,> Nyiragongo signed.  The flashlight played over the pebbles of his hide, and he snarled as he signed.  <She depends on the cats to patrol their own space. No human goes in there. There are no guards there, no lights, no walls.> 

<How do you know?>

<We have been here at night,> Copper said.  <We know the way in.  We pass the cats, and that takes us straight to the garden, and through a line of trees we will find the blade-and-clatter.> 

<We need only get in there, and the blade-and-clatter will be our way out,> Ash said.    

“What do they say?”  Scott asked. 

Owen explained. 

“Cats?” Stonebridge echoed.

“Big cats,” Owen said.  “But he says there’s no guards there at all.  The cages back up on the pool, right next to the helipad.”

“I don’t remember cat cages, do you?” Stonebridge asked Scott.      

“Recent intel beats even my memory, buddy,” Scott said. 

 “I can’t believe I’m taking tactical advice from dinosaurs,” Stonebridge said. “But hey, that sounds like a plan.” 

“We don’t have much moonlight left,” Owen said.  “We gotta hustle.” 

They followed the Clouds along the river, until the glow of all those security lights faded out of sight.  They made sure their rucksacks were tight, and then slipped into the river.  All three men were strong swimmers, and they swam across the river with no need for help. 

Owen found the mud under his knees again, and stood up thigh deep.  He crouched low so that he was less visible, and waded forward.  Water sluiced off his clothes, weighing him down.  He unslung the old AK-47, and leveled it. 

At his side, Scott and Stonebridge came out of the river, and they crossed the mud to the cover of the trees. 

The Clouds came out of the river, their hides black and glossy.  They slid away through the dark, and Owen turned to follow.  He squelched in his wet boots after them. 

The forest was black as pitch.  He followed the Clouds as best he could, aware that the two soldiers were right behind him.  They were moving up a narrow path.  

Behind him, he heard a whistle.  “Stop,” Stonebridge whispered. 

<Stop!> Owen signed.  The Clouds came to a stop, the sound of their feet slowing, and coming closer. 

“What’s the hold-up?” Owen asked. 

“I want to leave Gomez a present,” Scott whispered. 

Owen’s eyes had adjusted to the dark.  There was enough light glowing from the stars to see Scott's shape moving. 

A moment later, flame flared against Scott’s silhouette.  He’d struck a light with his Zippo.  The flame moved from his hand to his face, and he cupped the lighter against the end of his cigarette.  The glow of the flame lit up his stubbled face.   A second later he flipped the Zippo closed, but the end of cigarette glowed red, as he drew on it. 

“Now’s not the time for a smoke break,” Owen said. 

“He’s not having a smoke break,” Stonebridge said. 

Scott took another deep draw on his cigarette, making the tip flare.  Then he lowered the little red light. 

“Need a light,” Scott said, and Stonebridge obediently flicked on his flashlight, cupping his fingers over it so that only a tiny glow showed between his fingers. 

Owen watched.  He heard the rustle of paper and plastic.  Scott wedged the end of the cigarette into the rolled up notepaper,  with three matches inside.  He flipped the rubber band around the notepaper to hold it together – and then wedged the contraption into the ferns.

“And _that,_ boys and girls, is why you _don’t_ throw crap over your neighbour’s fence,” Scott said. 

Ash rumbled deeply.  All three Clouds were watching closely. 

“You’re lighting another fire!” Owen said. 

 “Timed incendiaries,” Stonebridge said.  “Any good arson investigator will spot it, but five gets you ten Guerrero won’t encourage them to look.”

“It’s a diversion,” Scott said.  “This might give us a few minutes breathing space to get the chopper off the ground.”

“But that’s…” Owen protested, and then stopped.  He remembered the towers of flame as the village of Magdalena burned.  He remembered the death agonies of BitterTooth.  If it was up to Emilia Gomez, his own beautiful Blue would die the same way that BitterTooth had.  “Yeah, all right."

“Besides,” Stonebridge said, coldly,  “If La Leona like fires so much, she can see what it feels like to toast her _own_ marshmallows.” 

“Come on!”  Scott said.  “I want to set a couple more, in case that one goes out.”

They moved on, warily, and Scott paused to light two more home-made incendiaries as he went.  He set them well apart, loosely framing the villa. 

Then they turned east, following close behind Ash’s tail.  They walked in silence, treading carefully.  The glow of light pollution grew in the sky.  The ground was soft, dirt littered with fallen leaves, but it was kept clear of underbrush.

Clear firing lines, Owen realized.  No ambushes could be laid here.  No snipers or observation posts could be hidden here. 

Owen could almost feel the foresights of invisible guns lined on his back.  He wanted to double over, but forced himself to pace slowly.  The other two were not running, or gibbering in tension, and neither could Owen.  He had sneaked his way into the InGen compound a year ago to steal back StripeSide and WingWatch.  He'd known that InGen's guards were armed. He'd known he was taking a risk that night - but he was far more afraid of La Leona's psychopathic footsoldiers than he had ever been of InGen.  If InGen had caught him, he might have been beaten up; charged with theft.  If La Leona caught him, he was dead - and StripeSide and all the people in San Judas Tadeo would die with him. 

But they moved through the forest without any shouts or shots fired.  No lights flared.  They were not challenged.  They were not disturbed.  They reached an open strip between the trees, and Owen realized his boots were clapping on tar. 

“Access road,” Scott breathed. 

They trotted across the road.  The big hard feet of the Clouds trotted with them, and as they broke out into the moonlight Owen saw the other two Clouds.  They had turned themselves dark – not black, but dark grey.  They stood out under the moonlight, but disappeared as soon as they went into the trees.  

Owen slipped into the trees after them, and plunged into the dark.  He was almost immediately blind, but he followed Ash’s grey back and tail. 

He almost collided with a tall wire fence. 

“I’ve got a fence," he whispered.  

“Gotcha,” Scott said.  He loomed up from the dark on Owen’s left. 

“Don’t touch it!” Owen said.  “It might have a hot wire!  Let me ask the Clouds.”  He turned to where he knew one of the Clouds had to be, and raised his hands.  He signed, <See you any threats?>

He waited a moment. 

After a few seconds, something was moving in the dark.  It was a pair of forehands, gradually turning white.  They seemed to float disembodied in the darkness, like a ghost from a Victorian séance.  When they were as bright as they could, in the dark, they began to move. 

<No guards.  No movement around, or inside this fence.  In here, we must go.>

<Is the fence hot?> Owen asked. 

<No.> 

<Thanking you.> 

“All clear,” Owen reported.  “They say we gotta get inside this fence, and it’s not hot.”  Owen reached up and hooked his fingers into the thick 9-guage wires.  The metal felt warm against his fingers. 

“Wire cutters?” Stonebridge whispered. 

“Coming to you,” Scott breathed back, and passed something to Stonebridge.  Owen saw something metallic glitter in the dark.    

There was a quick _clack, clack, clack, clack._   Stonebridge was cutting a hole.  His speed said he had cut a _lot_ of holes in chain-link fences in the dark. 

_Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack._

“Hold!” Scott hissed.  “Down!  We got company!”

Owen sank to his knees.  His hands found his AK-47, and he brought the gun around.  It was heavy, and the trigger guard felt slippery against his finger.  

“Don’t shoot,” Stonebridge warned.  Owen heard the tiny _tick_ of his AR-15’s safety  being clicked off.  “They haven’t made us yet.” 

Owen didn’t move.  He watched, closely. 

A car was moving along the road that they had just crossed.  It was travelling slowly, and its lights stroked slowly around them as it passed.

Owen was out of breath.  He was crouching still, but he was still panting for breath.  His chest felt too tight.  He blew out his breath, trying to loosen his chest so that he could breathe easily.  _Relax,_ he told himself.  _Unknot, stupid stomach!  Breathe!_  

The light seemed to reach fingers through the trees as the car rolled past.  It stroked over the bars of black-and-green paint on Stonebridge’s sweaty face.  His jaw was clenched like rock, but there was no alarm there.  He was simply kneeling, watching the car passing.  He looked as cold as a machine; as fearless and predatory as one of the velociraptors. 

Owen wondered what _his_ face looked like.  He hoped his face did not show any of the tension turning in his stomach.  He couldn't allow himself to show any signs of fear in front of two real soldiers.  They were fighting for _his_ dinosaurs.  He had a mission to carry out, and he could not let them down.  He would have to force down his fears, and fake a courage he did not feel. 

They waited, until the lights were gone.  The engine sound faded into the tropical night.  Owen let his breath out slowly.  His muscles were jumping and jerking against the weight of his gun. 

“Patrol,” Scott said. 

“We gotta move; they’ll be back,” Stonebridge said. 

“Yeah,” Owen said.  “Is the fence done?” 

“Yeah.  Take the top,” Stonebridge ordered. 

“No,” Owen said.  “Get back.  Gongo?”  he asked, and signed, <Obstacle – down.> 

There was a snarl in the darkness, and a figure moved.  A shadow blocked out the light over Owen. 

The raptor – Gongo or not –  set its claws into the fence, and heaved.  It grunted in its throat as it applied its full strength.  The wires simply _pop-pop-popped,_ all the way down, as the metal snapped under the pressure.  The raptor dragged it down, and then moved laterally, bending a whole section of fence back and open. 

Reptile muscles; muscles built for maximum strength, combined with a dense dinosaur skeleton.  9-gauge wire might be the minimum gauge needed to contain big cats, but 9-gauge was hopelessly too weak for dinosaurs.  Jurassic Park had taught them all that.  Dinosaurs were much stronger than mammals.

<Thanking you,> Owen signed.  <Go!> 

Gongo hissed.  Owen felt him passing, heard his breath and the crunch of his footsteps.  A second later another Cloud followed, tail accidentally slapping against Owen’s chest. 

“Follow me,” Owen whispered.  He turned his AK-47, and ducked through the gap in the fence. 

Almost as soon as they were through the fence, they were out of the trees.  Trimmed grass stretched around them.  He could see two Clouds moving ahead of him, gliding through the moonlight. 

“Should we wire that back up?” Scott wondered, behind Owen.  “Stop whatever’s in here from getting out?”

“No,” Owen said.  “You’ve set fires all around this place.  Leave it open, let them have a fighting chance to run away.” 

He put his head down and headed after the Clouds.  He could smell something strange on the air.  It was a rank feline smell; a scent he had only smelled a few times in his career. 

“Smell that?” he asked quietly. 

“Yeah, what _is_ that?”  Scott asked. 

“Cats,” Owen said.  “Gongo!” he called. 

The looming shadow of the Cloud turned, and his forehands began to bleach white in readiness to talk.

<How many of these cats are in here?>

The bone-white talons signed, <Five.>

<Keep watch over them,> Owen said.  <Their kind eats our kind.> 

<This is why this route is unguarded,> Nyiragongo signed.  <No human could walk here alone and survive.> 

“What does he say?” Scott asked. 

“Gongo says there are five in here with us,” Owen said. 

“Five what?” Scott asked. 

“Probably lions.” 

 _“Lions?”_ Scott asked, swinging his gun around, as if he thought he would be leaped on at any second. 

 _“This_ is why there aren’t any guards here!” Stonebridge grunted.  He turned on his heel, sweeping the muzzle of the AR-15 in an arc, ready to spray anything that leaped from the dark.  “I thought you said this was the easy way in!Who the hell breaks _into_ a lion’s den!” 

It dawned on Owen that the presence of lions were as nerve-wracking to them as combat was to him.  They knew nothing of being stalked by man-eating predators. “We’re safe!” Owen said.   “The lions won’t come anywhere near the raptors.  Dinosaurs eat mammals, and they know it. We're safe as long as we don't run.”

“Let’s just get hell out of here,” Stonebridge said. 

“Yes.  Nice and slow,” Owen said.  “But _don’t run_ , whatever you do.”

“Roger that,” Scott said. "No running."

They started walking through the enclosure in single file.  Ahead, visible as a shadow under the moonlight, was one of the Clouds, leading the way.  He looked up.  Bright lights seemed to float above the treetops.  The lion enclosure was bringing them straight through the defences of the villa, straight into the heart of La Leona’s fortress.  They were attacking her through the one route she could not guard.

The rank feline smell was thick.  Owen could almost feel the eyes of the cats in the darkness, watching the humans cross their territory.  He walked, his eyes ranging across the shadows.  He couldn’t see his feet, and he didn’t know what he was walking on, but the ground was soft and yielding underfoot.  There was movement on Owen’s right.  His eyes darted that way.  He caught a glimpse of stripes in the darkness, and swung to face it. 

“There – there it is!”  He stopped and levelled the weapon.  “D’ye see it?” 

“See what?” 

“It's a lioness. There it is!” 

In the darkness, it was almost invisible.  Its tan fur blended into the darkness.  It was just a shiver of movement, a ripple of the flat sheet of darkness.

“Holy shit!” Scott growled.  “It’s a lion!”

“Lioness,” Owen corrected absently.  “Keep walking.  And _don’t run.”_  

Ash took two strides toward it, and her hide bleached white in threat.  She stared into the darkness at the lioness. They were ambush predators, like she was.  Staring at them told them you knew they were there, and she knew that. 

“Owen?” Stonebridge asked. 

“Take it easy,” Owen said.  “Keep going.  And don't run.” 

They walked on. 

“There’s another one,” Stonebridge said.  “Three o’clock.” 

“Keep walking.  Nice and slow,” Owen recited.  “And hold your fire.” 

<They flee,> Ash signed. 

“It’s all right!” Owen said.  “Keep together, keep walking!” 

Stonebridge walked on, and a moment later Scott and Nyiragongo followed him. 

Ash rumbled, and turned to follow Owen.  <They have gone,>  she signed.  <They found the hole, and they went  out.> 

“Ash says they’ve gone out,” he whispered.  “We’re okay.”   

“Phew!” Stonebridge sighed. 

“I’ve decided I don’t like lions,” Scott muttered.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Stonebridge said. 

“Yeah, roger that!” Scott rumbled. 

In a few more minutes they came across the other fence. 

The enclosure wasn’t very big, Owen realized.  He felt a surge of anger inside him.  La Leona, his _ass!_   She wasn’t _just_ a poisonous drug trafficker; she was a bad animal-keeper too. “Bitch,” he muttered under his breath. 

“What?”  Scott asked. 

“This enclosure isn’t nearly big enough for five lions!” Owen fumed. 

“Let’s get through this fence before we call the RSPCA, all right?” Stonebridge said, mildly. 

“Right,” Owen growled.

“Wire-cutters!” Stonebridge whispered. 

Owen turned his back to them, letting them get on with it.  _Clack-clack-clack-clack!_ He stared into the darkness. 

A few minutes with the wire-cutters made a right-angled tear in the fence.  Again, Nyiragongo twisted his talons into the corner of the tear, and tore it down with a surge of reptilian muscle. 

A moment later, they were in a dark alleyway.  There was fine gravel underfoot now.  Water was running somewhere – not the sound of an open tap, but a soft chinkling-tinkling, like a water-feature.  There were structures facing them, blocky dark roofs in a row, facing the lions. 

<More cages,> Nyiragongo signed.  Only his forehands were white under the moonlight. The rest of him was invisible, as if he wore luminous gloves. 

<More cages?> Owen said. He crossed the gravel, his boots crunching.  He could see a regular pattern in the darkness.  Bars of metal.  Cage fronts.  He reached out one hand, and touched the cold steel.  The cages were dark inside. 

<We will open them,> he signed.  <Come, help me here.> 

One of the Clouds snarled, and followed him.

<That!> Owen signed, and pointed up to the top of the access door, through which the cage was cleaned.  <Tear it down!> 

The Cloud hiss-snapped, and stood up to their full height.  Owen turned away in the sound of tearing metal and crunching sounds.  <You!>  he pointed to the next Cloud.  <Tear down the next one!  We will open all these doors.>

“Dude, what are you _doing?”_   Scott asked. 

“What does it look like?” Owen snapped, brushing past him on his way to the next cage.  “I’m letting these animals out!” 

“We don’t have time for this!”  Scott followed behind him. 

“Fuck that!”  Owen said. “This place is going to go up in smoke!  I’m not leaving these animals here to burn to death.” 

“You can’t risk the mission for animals!”  Scott said, following on Owen’s heels. 

“Then go!  I’ll be right behind you!  We’ll catch up with you!” 

He found a shed, and a door.  He turned the handle, and pushed the door open. 

“What’s in here, now?” he asked.  “Snakes?”  He felt around inside the doorway for a light switch, but his fingers found nothing but wood.  He reached into his pocket for his flashlight, and flicked it on.  He raised it to eye-level, and aimed it across the inside of the shed. 

The flashlight found a man.  He was lying on the floor, asleep. 

Owen felt his mouth drop open in shock.  He stumbled backward, flinching away.  He was already tensing, ready to whip his weapon around and return fire. 

But the man wasn’t moving.  He wasn’t waking.  He wasn’t waking, because he wasn’t asleep.  He was dead.

Owen gripped the sides of the door.  “Christ,” he said. 

“What have you…” Scott arrived on his heels, and hooked his face around the doorway.  “Yeah, you found a dead ‘un.” 

Owen stepped up to the wooden floor of the shed, ducking his head under the low lintel.  He kept the flashlight raised, up at the side of his face, as if the steel was a talisman.  He kept the beam aimed on the body, but stopped a few feet away.  The harsh light cast jagged shadows against the corner behind the dead man.  It glittered off a narrow aluminium pipe on the ground next to the body. Owen saw the hand-grip, and the cuff, and knew who the dead man was even before the light had reached his face.  His stomach tried to climb up into his throat. 

Scott came into the shed behind Owen.  He thumbed on his own flashlight and bent down over the dead man.  His flashlight ranged over the body.  “Strangled,” he grunted.  “Thin cord, maybe wire.”   

“Oh, Bindi,” Owen said.  “I’m sorry.” 

“Wait, you _know_ him?” 

“It’s Bindi Thornton,” Owen said. 

“The Australian?” Scott asked.  “InGen’s man in Havana?” 

“Yeah,” Owen said.  He kept his eyes focused on Thornton's crutch, rather than Thornton's purple face.  "Ah, Bindi.  I'm sorry, mate."

“Isn’t he your enemy?” 

 “Yes, but I didn’t mean him to end up _dead,”_ Owen said.  “There’s _enough_ blood on my conscience already.” 

“We gotta leave him here,” Scott said. 

“Yes,” Owen said.  “Luckily for him this place is going to burn down around him.”

“Lucky?” Scott echoed. 

Owen looked at Scott, and saw that the soldier hadn’t understood yet why Thornton’s body was _here,_ of all places.  Scott didn't know there was anything strange about the behaviour of the lions. They were afraid of the raptors, but not afraid of the humans. Those were cats who knew exactly how tasty human flesh was. “Dead body,” he said.  “Free meat for the lions.” 

Scott recoiled, horrified.  “You _kidding_ me?” 

Owen shook his head.  “La Leona's taking a page out of Uday Hussein's book." 

“We just let them out into the forest,” Scott said. 

“The raptors will round them up,” Owen said.  “But we can’t do anything about them now.  That’s a problem for another day!  Let’s go.” 

Owen took one last look at Thornton’s body, and stood up.  He looked again, just for a second, before he turned off his flashlight and turned away. 

Ash met him coming out.  <It is done, all the cages are open now.  We must go.> 

<We go.> 

“Moving out,” Stonebridge said. 

“On your six,” Scott said. 

<Follow,> Owen signed to the Clouds. 

They didn’t get very far. 

Maybe they had made too much noise in the cat cage.  Maybe someone was just patrolling in their normal pattern.  Maybe someone spotted Owen's flashlight.  They had just rounded the corner of the alleyway around the cages, when someone shouted at them. 

“Hey, you!  Who are you?” 

Scott spun on his heel.  He fired twice, economically.  The man dropped backward in the dark.

Owen’s ears rang with the hammer of the two shots.  That would be heard all over the villa!  Sneaking was over!  Now it was time to fight!    

“Here we go!” Scott said. 

“Moving!” Stonebridge shouted.  They sprinted forward together. 

“Gongo!” Owen shouted, and the reptilian head sprang up.  <That way!  Blade-and-clatter!> 

Gongo leaped into movement.  Owen levelled his AK47 and ran after them.  

They sprinted under a gateway, and into the garden.  There were rose bushes here, and low ornamental walls.  They were found again almost immediately by another guard, still out of sight.  Someone else opened fire; a roar of automatic fire, spraying everywhere like a hurricane. 

Scott whirled, and fired back, roaring.  Ash leaped, high in the air.  She disappeared into the darkness, and the gunfire stopped short. 

“We gotta go!” Stonebridge shouted. 

Owen leaped forward, running to keep up.  Scott and Stonebridge were pushing forward, pressing their advantage of surprise, leapfrogging each other forward.  They were running for the helicopter to get there before La Leona’s people even knew they were being attacked. They raced through the gardens and into the bright lights.  There were buildings above them on the left, bright stucco walls glowing in the light.  In the gardens below, Owen jumped into a flower bed, and ran crashing through shrubs. 

“Move, move, move!” Stonebridge was bellowing like a bull. 

Owen joined them, racing with them along a terrace lined with rose bushes.  He caught sight of a long back and tail, streaking on one side in the darkness. 

Bullets were suddenly battering on the stones around Owen, ricochets screaming.  They were taking fire from the other side.  He couldn’t see where the bullets were coming from at all – from somewhere up at the house. 

Time to return fire!  Owen threw himself down against a low wall.  He swung the barrel of the AK47 in that direction and fired a burst.  He saw movement as someone there ducked down. 

“We have to give Scott time to start that chopper!” Stonebridge roared. 

The enemy on the flank came back up again, showing himself.  Owen fired another  burst.  The man ducked back – straight under a large white shape leaping through the air.  The Cloud disappeared behind the wall, tail flagging, and there was a scream. 

“Jesus, they’re good,” Stonebridge shouted. 

Owen could almost hear Vic Hoskins laughing smugly in the back of his mind. 

“Come on!” Owen shouted, and scrambled to his feet. 

Their sudden arrival had taken the enemies by surprise, but their advantage was fleeting.  They were already waking up!   The doors of the house had sprung open.  Men were piling out, aiming weapons.  They were streaming into the garden, and opening fire in all directions. 

“The chopper is this way!” Stonebridge shouted.  “Move!” 

“Keep going,” Scott shouted back.  “Move, move!” 

Owen raised the AK47 and fired a burst at the house.  The men were ducking down.  He used their distraction to jump up and run after Scott and Stonebridge.  He heard the sound of the Clouds, shrieking and screaming. 

His Navy training had been a long long time ago, but he _remembered_ this.  He remembered the crash of shots, the smell, the cold rage floating over terror.  He remembered the way the world seemed to narrow to just this one tight focus, and slow down to a series of still images, forever impressed into his brain.  It was disorienting.  Too much noise, too much speed, too many distractions.  Fire seemed to be coming from all over. 

But he was surrounded by two of the best soldiers in the world.  They didn’t hesitate for a second.  And the Clouds were there.  The young raptors were frighteningly efficient fighters.  He knew that StripeSide had used them as her reconnaissance teams when he’d been held as Pedro’s prisoner.  He’d seen what they could do. 

A Greek-style flower pot suddenly exploded in front of his face as bullets hit it.  Chips of pottery flew up against Owen's cheek, and he heard a ricochet around him. 

Too close!  He threw himself in a dive like a football player, diving headfirst over a wall.  He rolled up and pressed himself up against the wall, giving himself time to figure where the fire was coming from.  He looked up, wincing from the threat of the bullets singing past just a few feet overhead, and found Stonebridge’s sweaty face close to his.  Scott was close behind Stonebridge. 

They were being pinned down from the house.  The whole villa was awake.  They knew there were intruders in the garden. 

“I guess that’s the end of the easy part!” Scott shouted. 

It was such a random thing to say that Owen laughed, and then stopped himself quickly because it wasn't funny. 

There was one of those brief lulls in the rattle of fire.  Owen’s ears were ringing painfully, but he could hear a female voice screaming from somewhere in the distance.  She wasn’t shrieking in panic, but screaming orders.  

_“I don’t fucking care, you and you and you, get around the other side, and cut them off!  You,  the other side, circle them, and kill them!  Kill them all!”_

“That’s La Leona!” Owen said. 

“Fuck, yeah.”  Scott grinned fiercely.  “This is my best chance to end this bitch!” 

“No!” Stonebridge said.  “Stand down!  We need _you_ to get to the helicopter.  I’ll deal with her, you two deal with the chopper.  The chopper is the mission!  Not the house!”

“Got it!” Scott changed magazines. 

Stonebridge twisted to see around them.  He put two fingers in his mouth, and whistled.  One of the Clouds was deep in a bush of flowers, completely camouflaged.  Its hide was even studded with flowers.  Only its eyes were showing, glittering like diamonds.  Copper, Owen wondered?  

When the Cloud’s eyes turned to him, Stonebridge pointed to it, then to himself, then over the wall toward the sound of La Leona’s voice. 

Copper snarled, blood lining her teeth, and signed the word <Together!>

“She gets it,” Owen said. 

“And you,” Stonebridge said to Owen.  “You and Scott, you two get to the helicopter.  We’ll hold them off for you, but you get that chopper.  You hear me?  You take that chopper!  If we’re not back with you in fifteen minutes, you take that chopper and you get the hell out of here! 

“Not without you!”  Owen said. 

“I’ve been alone before,” Stonebridge insisted.  “The chopper is the mission.  Everything else is gravy!”

“Should be _me_ who goes,” Scott said. 

“Fuck that,” Stonebridge said.  “You just want to have all the fun yourself!  _You_ just focus on that chopper!  Wheels up in fifteen!”    

“Yo!” Owen agreed.  He twisted around.  <Ash and Copper, follow BridgeOfStone!>  he signed.  <FireMountain!  Attend!  You and me!  We find the helicopter, and we keep it safe!> 

<Understanding!> 

“They’ve got it,” Owen reported. 

“You two, lay down supressive fire," Stonebridge ordered.  "Give us one minute, then go straight to the chopper!  We’ll keep them busy - you get that chopper started!” 

“Gotcha!” Scott shouted. 

Not exactly proper military terminology, Owen thought, but then again nothing about this night was going by the book!  Owen turned to the Cloud in the dark shrubbery. 

<We shoot to make them hide, and you attack them while they are hiding!> 

<Good!> 

“On three!”  Stonebridge said. 

“On three?” Scott laughed at him, over the barrel of his weapon.  His teeth were bared.  “Or on go?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just GO!” 

Both men sprang up from cover at the same time.  Owen swung up with them and opened fire. 

Stonebridge leaped up and broke straight into a sprint.  The Cloud hiding in the flowers leaped too, simultaneously, her colours flashing to ruddy gold – Copper. 

* * *

 

Michael Stonebridge leaped over the wall, and hit the ground running.  Men were ducking from Scott’s covering fire, and Stonebridge jinked sideways.  He used Scott’s fire to get to a low wall, and run along it.  He sprang around a corner, taking his enemies by surprise, spraying them with fire.  They broke and ran. 

He ducked down against a wall.  He could hear the woman screaming orders.  Ash and Copper had come to a stop.  Waiting for him. 

He held up a hand to catch their attention.  He signalled to himself, and to the left.  Then to them, and around. 

The coppery-red one nodded her head up and down. A ponderous gesture on that thick neck, but she understood. 

And then they were off again. The Clouds attacked.  He followed them, sending a hail of bullets around them. 

And they worked together wonderfully!  The Clouds were not even human.  But Stonebridge fought, and they fought alongside him, as if they’d been fighting all their lives. 

They seemed to understand how to leap-frog; how to time their own leaps with the bursts of fire. They were barely visible in the half-darkness, and they moved so fast the enemy barely even saw them.  He fired to keep the enemies heads down, and the Clouds used his cover to race forward.  He used the AR15 to pin them down, and the Clouds raced around them.  They sprang through the air, leaping high, killing-claws out.  They leaped, and moved on - leaped, and moved on.  The colours flowed over their hides, running like water, ever-shifting.  They adapted to the dim light in the garden second-to-second, flickering, faster than any chameleon he’d ever seen. 

He ran on, and the Clouds were racing alongside him. 

He was shocked to see that they didn’t bother to duck.  He saw Ash leap over a wall, and just run straight into fire.  Head down, claws grabbing, eating lead, pushing forward as if she felt nothing.  The man shooting at her shot at her until she reached him, and then he was finished.  His gun flew as the raptor just tore into him.  Blood spattered. 

It was the old mathematics of cavalry, he thought, staring at Ash: speed of advance over rate of fire.  Machine guns had ended cavalry forever.  But here was a creature able to eat bullets and keep charging, straight into the teeth of a machine gun.  She was charging them faster than they could shoot back at her.

He’d heard on the Army grapevine about raptors taking down a whole squad of mercs at Jurassic World, and ignored it as a rumour.  He believed the rumours now.  He could see it.  He had read the books on Jurassic Park, and thought they were exaggerating.  

Genetically modified super-soldiers, Owen said; built for war. 

And Michael Stonebridge was the only soldier  to fight alongside them! 

The exhilaration flooded his veins, more than just the high of combat. 

He’d thought that he had done everything that a soldier could do in his career.  He’d been wrong!  Now he'd done it all.  Now he was _making_ _history!_ The first archer, the first cavalryman, the first musketeer, and now Michael Stonebridge was the first soldier to fight alongside raptors.  He was Alexander now, he was Yuri Gagarin.  He was Neil Armstrong, alone on the face of the moon, alone and forever unsurpassed.

“Good luck, Mr Gorsky!” he chuckled, and threw himself at the next wall. 

They had moved up the gardens, and now Stonebridge was in a familiar place. 

He remembered this lawn.  He’d fought his way _down_ this lawn three years ago; now he fought his way back up again.  He raced up to the building. 

There was a covered cloister here, along the wall, looking down over the garden.  He perched next to a potted plant, and walked the AR15 along the cloisters until it ran dry.  Whoever was up there returned fire, but then stopped.  One of the Clouds shrieked, glass shattered.  Time to move.   He threw away the empty AR15, and pulled out his SIG Sauer.   

He sprang up into the cloister.  The floor was spread with wicker lawn furniture around glass-topped tables and lush potted plants.  The furniture was thrown over, glass broken.  His boots skidded on blood. 

There was a wide doorway here, and he remembered that too.  This was where he and Scott had run into Scott's Mossad girlfriend.  This was where they had shot that Russian kid whose death had caused them all so much trouble.  Stonebridge sprang in through the doorway.  He was in a brightly-lit corridor, painted cream, and open to the tropical breeze.    

Someone raced into the corridor from the other side, and yelled at the sight of Stonebridge.  Stonebridge levelled the SIG at point blank range, and it bucked in his hand. _One-two.  One-two._ The man tumbled back, collapsing against the creamy wall. 

He spun around the corner and started sprinting up it. 

He’d chosen a bad moment.  Men ran around the corner at the far end.  He skidded to a halt and threw himself sideways into a doorway, just in time.  He could hear ricochets zapping past.  He was being shot at from both sides, pinned down by a cross-fire. 

To sit in one position was to be outflanked and trapped.  He could hear voices now, on either side of him.  His adrenalin level jumped up into his throat.  They knew where he was.  They were coordinating their attack, meaning to flush him out.  They were coming up toward him from both sides. 

He wasn’t going to sit here and let it happen.  He had nine more bullets in the SIG Sauer.  He rolled out from cover,  his shoulder smacking into the tiles, opening fire from ground level,He saw his enemies falling. 

A second later glass exploded, and a raptor crashed through the window behind his opponents.  She sprawled on her side, legs swiping the tiles until she  was able to claw herself upright.  She heaved herself onto all fours and sprang on Stonebridge's attackers from behind.    

No time to watch!  He rolled over and fired in the other direction.  There were only two men there, and he had shot them both before they could recover from their shock at the sight of the velociraptor.  _One-two, one-two._   They fell, sprawling. 

Silence fell. Stonebridge was panting. 

The Cloud was joined by the other one, trotting up the corridor.  Both of them were covered in sprays of blood.  They snapped at each other’s necks, and then turned their necks around to stare at a door on the right. 

They stared at it for a long moment.  Long enough for Stonebridge to roll over and get  to his feet.  He advanced up the corridor toward them, pistol held ready.  He could hear the harsh rasping breaths of the two velociraptors.    

Their eyes did not blink from the door.  Even if he had spoken Raptor Sign, he would not have needed it to know that La Leona was in there.  The raptors were locked on, focused.  

He lodged his shoulder against the wall next to the door, and nodded. 

Copper reached out her forehand, and wrapped it around the doorhandle.  She twisted it. 

A second later, a series of handgun shots burst out.  Copper pulled her hand back, clapping it against her breastbone. Bullets were chewing the door from the inside.  Wood chips flew with each shot. 

The Clouds waited only long enough for whoever was in there to empty her magazine on the door. 

As soon as the shots stopped, Copper struck the door.  Her killing-claws slammed into it, throwing her off.  The hinges broke, and the door burst inward.  Ash took the gap instantly.  She crunched against the doorframe, smashing her way in, battering and slamming herself against the doorjambs until wood flew.  She disappeared inside, and her sister followed her. 

Stonebridge raised his pistol and darted in after them. 

A human figure sprang at him in the gloom, and the SIG barked.  _One-two!  One_ – and the pistol was empty.  The last body-guard fell. 

Silence fell again. 

This room was an office suite.  The lights were dim, leaking from hooded desk lamps.  The trapped air smelled of cordite.  The two Clouds were braced around someone in the corner, threatening her, holding her there. 

The woman was cowering in the corner.  She was crouched on her knees against the wall, hands over her head.  “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me!” she cried.  She was dressed in black silk pyjamas, like a ninja.  Her long black hair hung around her face.  “I’m a woman, don’t hurt me, I’m a woman!”

Ash and Copper looked down at her.  Copper hiss-snapped, teeth clacking. 

“Keep them off me!”  the woman squealed when she saw Stonebridge moving around behind the two Clouds.  “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, I’m only a woman!”

Stonebridge pushed his way past Copper’s shoulder.  “You’re La Leona!” he snapped, through gritted teeth.   

He didn’t need a photo ID.  He could see the family resemblance to Miguel and Raoul in her face.  This was Emilia Gomez - the Lioness - the cocaine queen.  He’d heard from Maggie Montroe what this woman was capable of. 

His hands moved on smooth muscle memory.  He popped the magazine from the SIG Sauer without even looking.   He let the spent magazine fall out of the SIG’s grip, and reached to his belt for the next…

... And that was when Michael Stonebridge, SBS, ran out of bullets.  His fingers found empty space. 

For a second he groped for steel that wasn’t there, and then he did what he had seen _so_ many raw recruits do.  He looked down. 

The three spare pistol magazines on his belt were not there.  Stonebridge's brain boggled. Had he dropped them while climbing?  Riding?  Swimming?  He’d committed the ultimate sin; he’d run out of ammo in combat.  He’d have had the ass of any recruit under his training who committed such a rookie mistake! 

She stared at him, waiting for his shot, and realized the truth.  She smiled.  “I think you’re out, soldier,” she purred. 

“Don’t you move a muscle!” he threatened. 

“What are you going to do, throw it at me?”  she mocked. 

She got up, slowly, rising to her feet until she was leaning against the wall.  She wasn’t cowering any more.  She stared back at him, and her eyes were flat and black like a shark.  The trapped rat fought the hardest of all. 

She turned her head to look at the two Clouds.  “Hey-y-y.  I’ve got something to show you.  This way!” 

Copper dropped her jaws and hissed.  Ash struck out at her sister with her teeth.  Copper dropped her neck submissively.  Ash stalked forward, closer to La Leona. 

La Leona saw the Cloud coming toward her. 

“That’s right, ,” she said.  She edged sideways, crabstepping until she reached the wall.  “I’ve got something to show you.  Have a look.  This is for you!” 

There was a map on the wall and she leaned her hand against it.  Black Sharpie had been scribbled over it in big letters. 

 JOIN ME.

WE CAN BE FRIENDS.

I CAN GIVE YOU THE WORLD.

 She tapped her palm on the map, under the words.  “Here, look here.  Look at this!” 

Ash and Copper’s heads swung to look at it.  Then they looked at each other. 

“Hey!” she said.  “What do you say?  Good idea?” 

Copper snarled.  Ash cocked her head, and made a curious trilling noise at it.  Her eye ranged over the map.  She seemed to be weighing up La Leona's offer.  

Stonebridge held his breath. 

If the Clouds changed sides now, he was a dead man.  He’d seen how fast they moved.  He was fucked.  

“You’re predators," La Leona said.  "So am I.  Join me.   I can give you all the hunting you want.  I can make you powerful beyond your wildest dreams!” 

Ash stepped forward again, a step closer to La Leona.  Her four-fingered fists were clenching and unclenching.  Her third eyelids slid shut in a reptilian blink. 

La Leona started to smile.  “Yessss.  You’re the same, you and I,” she purred.  “We’re on the same side.  You know it’s true.” 

Ash cocked her wedge-shaped head at Emilia Gomez’s hand.  She opened her mouth slightly, and made a noise; a deep _bom-bom-bom-bom_ ,  that sounded like the mooring line of a huge ship creaking under pressure. 

Stonebridge let the empty SigSauer drop, and it clattered on the tiles.  He reached to his belt and whipped out his knife

“That’s right,” Emilia Gomez purred in a voice of silk.  Her smile spread over her face.  She reached out her hand, almost to Ash's face.

“You see him?” she purred.  She pointed at Stonebridge, still standing behind Ash.  

Ash’s long head and neck swivelled back.  She stared at Stonebridge.  Copper matched her.  Two pairs of cold eyes suddenly locked onto Stonebridge's gaze.  They stared at him, unblinking. 

Stonebridge took a step backwards, gripping the knife.  

“Kill him,”  Emilia purred, pointing at Stonebridge.  “And I will make you rich and powerful beyond anything you can ..." 

Ash whipped around, and her jaws clamped onto La Leona’s arm.  _Crunch!_  

Stonebridge jumped back, shocked. 

Emilia Gomez shrieked.  Ash's jaws locked on her arm, biting deep like a shark.   Ash reared up, and wrenched her neck laterally.  La Leona was whipped sideways like a rag doll, thrown across the room and flung over the desk. Blood sprayed from a torn artery.  Ash leaped over the desk after her with a snarl. 

Gomez screamed again, and then there was a sickening tearing sound.  The scream bubbled out. 

“Jesus Christ!” Stonebridge stumbled backwards, away from the blood and the horrifying tearing sounds.  He backed off, his fingers locked around the hilt of his knife.  All he could see was the sinuous line of Ash’s spine, jerking with her effort, and hear her snarling. 

 _This_ was the same raptor they had met that day by the waterfall?  The one who let that kid Cristian ride on her back?  _This_ was the same raptor who let a teenager kiss her face, and scritch her neck, and tell her she was beautiful?  _Jesus Christ!_ he thought. 

The Jurassic Park Incident had happened while he was in high school.  He’d read about what the raptors had done to Muldoon; what they did to Arnold.  He thought he’d _known_ what they were capable of – but nothing had prepared him for seeing it happen in front of him.  He might be the only soldier in history to fight alongside velociraptors in combat - but _that_ was a record he hoped he would keep.  Velociraptors were a specialty _no_ Army should _ever_ have. 

Well, that was the end of the Gomez family, he thought.  Scott would be glad.  Now, he just needed to get back to Scott in one piece, and tell him. 

“Oy!” he said. 

Copper swung her head to stare at him, but from Ash there was no response.

He repeated it louder.  “OY!  You!”   

Ash's head shot up over the edge of the desk.  She snarled at him.  Her face was smeared with blood, and her slit pupils were dilated with arousal. 

Stonebridge had never wanted to run away more.  “We have to go!” he barked, swallowing his fear.  He gestured with the knife toward the door.   “We go, now!” 

Ash snarled at him again – and then she turned her back on him.  She pulled herself back onto her haunches, and jumped headlong against the window.  She disappeared into the dark in a blast of glass and torn blinds.  Gone. 

Well, Stonebridge certainly was _not_ jumping out of the window after her!  He was a soldier but he wasn’t that dumb. 

Copper had watched her sister go without a sound.  She cocked her head and blinked.  She signed something to Stonebridge that he did not understand.  

“We've got to go!” he said to her.  He gestured with the barrel,  and made good on the gesture by moving toward the door.  “Come on!” 

She understood, because she followed. 

He broke out of the room, and ran down the corridor outside.  The sound of footsteps behind him told him the Cloud was running after him.  He scooped up a gun from one of La Leona’s dead guards, checked the magazine, and ran on.  He had barely five minutes left to get to the chopper, or be stuck here! 

* * *

 

Owen ran along a gravel path, with Scott at his side, and Nyiragongo pacing in the lead.    A bright floodlight warned him where the helipad was, just before he could throw himself out into plain view. 

The helicopter stood alone in the centre of the helipad.  It was walled by trees, reminding him briefly of AirWolf.  There were men there, moving around the aircraft.  Sentries – armed, wide-awake and fore-warned.    

“Wait!” Scott said, holding out a hand to bar Owen’s way.  “Don’t shoot at the chopper.  We don’t want to damage it.” 

<Stop,> Owen signed.  

Nyiragongo paused.  He slid his weight from one big foot to the other.  His tail waved, and he was clenching and unclenching his fists. 

Owen glanced at the men around the chopper.  They hadn’t yet seen them, standing in the darkness.  “You have a better idea?” 

“You distract them,” Scott said.  “Draw them here.  I’ll take ‘em from behind.” 

“Ambush.”  Owen looked at the helicopter.  There were three men there.  He pursed his lips, and nodded.  “Okay.” 

“Great,” Scott said.  “You, Gongo!  You – _that_ way!  Us – _this_ side.  Savvy?” 

Nyiragongo slitted his eyes again, and then swung his long head and neck to stare at Owen.  <What is that?>  he signed, and managed to imbue the signs with disdain. 

<Ambush.  We need to lure them here.  I will go, and be bait, and lead them here.>

Nyiragongo’s eyes slitted. His thick lips lifted from his teeth in a thoughtful snarl.  <Draw their gaze here, hold their attention on you, and I will leap on them.> 

<Conceal yourself,> Owen said. 

Nyiragongo snarled.  He swung his long head and neck away, and darted off the path with a spring of his big hocks.  Scott followed him, a bit more slowly. 

“Ready?” Owen asked. 

“Ready,” Scott agreed, and settled down into the darkness alongside a tree.  “Let’s do this.” 

Owen started toward the helicopter.  He swaggered into the light, put two fingers into his mouth, and whistled at them as if he was calling a dog.      

They whipped around.  “Grady!” a voice shouted.  “Owen Grady!” 

“You!” Owen shouted. 

It was Pedro – sunglasses and all!  Owen remembered Matteo’s death.  Pedro had killed Maggie’s hired driver with less feeling than Owen put down a sick dog! 

Owen’s grip tightened on the AK47.  He wanted to blast away at Pedro with the AK, and to hell with the helicopter!  “You son of a bitch!”

“Bastard!” Pedro shouted.  “I’m going to kill you!  _Get him!”_  

Owen spun on his heel, and ran.  He sprinted between the trees

“I’m going to kill you, Grady!”  Pedro screamed behind him, charging after Owen.  “I’m going to peel your _gringo_ skin off in one inch strips!  I’m going to stick a red-hot poker up your…!” 

“You’ll have to catch me first, scum sucker!”  Owen spun around on the end of the path, facing Pedro.  “Come over here, and get me!” 

“Bastard!”  Pedro screamed, red-faced in rage.  He skidded to a stop facing Owen and pointed at Owen.  “Kill him!”  he screamed. 

The two men at his sides raised their weapons, lining on Owen. 

Owen knew what was going to happen before it happened. He threw himself off the gravel into the dark.  He moved just in time, because the guns opened up in a roar behind him.  He hit the ground hard, rolling, keeping down. 

Bullets zapped up the trees around Owen, ripping up wood and leaves.  The rifles were roaring, hammering at Owen’s hiding place.  There was a metallic shriek, and a man screamed.  As quickly as it started the shooting stopped. 

Nyiragongo cough-barked in the sudden silence. 

Owen rolled to his feet and clambered out of the bushes.  He found Scott standing on the pathway, his AR15 sagging in shock.  “Fuck me,” Scott said.  “That was _fast.”_

Owen had seen the work of raptors before.  He knew what Scott had just seen.  Scott might be ex-Special Forces, but no training prepared a man for seeing _that._   Owen crossed the path, and knelt down at Pedro’s side. 

Pedro had a gash in his throat, and a surprised look on his face.  He gasped once or twice, and died with his eyes still staring his hatred at Owen.  The two men with him were already dead.  Nyiragongo had used his killing-claws on them, but he’d whipped his forehand across Pedro’s throat. 

There was a huff of breath and a snarl at Owen’s shoulder.  He looked up.  

<This one I remember,> Nyiragongo signed.  One forehands was still dripping blood.  His colour was sliding from grey to burning red: an angry colour.  <This one preys on other humans.>  

<Not any more,> Owen signed. 

“He sounded like he knew you,” Scott observed. 

“Yeah, he did,”  Owen said.  He pushed himself to his feet.  “This is La Leona’s right hand man.  Come on!  Let’s get that chopper started!”    

“Yeah, let’s go.” Scott raised the barrel of the AR15. 

The helicopter was still waiting on the helipad.  Scott ran straight up to it, and pulled open the pilot’s cabin door.  He climbed straight up into the pilot’s seat. 

“All right,” he muttered to himself.  “Awesome.  Bell, is it.  Yeah, I can do this…” 

Nyiragongo trotted around, tail high, examining his first helicopter.   He reached up one talon and touched the tail rotor.  

Owen jogged around the aircraft, checking it out.  It was silent; the engine was cold.  The windows had been cratered with bullet-holes from Scott shooting at it that afternoon.  There was a searchlight attached to its snub nose, but the light had been shot out. 

He jogged back to the helicopter’s belly and climbed up into the crew cabin.  There were suitcases here.  Owen wasn’t interested in suitcases, and he threw them out onto the ground.  They needed all the room back here for three half-grown Clouds.   It was going to be a tight squeeze. 

“Can you fly this thing?” Owen asked Scott. 

“Yeah, I can fly this thing!”  Scott called over the back of his seat.  He jumped back down to the ground and jogged to the tail of the helicopter.  “Gotta unplug the fuel line,”  he said.  “Come help me with this thing…”

Owen moved to the cabin door.  He froze in the doorway as movement caught his eye.   _“Look out!”_

A man was running toward them.  He swung a rifle to his shoulder and fired.  

Nyiragongo spun around, but Scott sprang forward.  There was a _Fthwuck!_  

Scott stumbled back, colliding with Nyiragongo behind him.  A bright orange dark bristled in his chest. 

The man who’d fired was stumbling back, reloading.  He was going to shoot again!  This time he would not miss! 

The AK47 came up and lined.  The trigger seemed to pull itself.  The gun’s recoil was a vicious slap, and his eyes found his enemy again.  The man was tumbling backward limply.  He thrashed once, and lay still.

“Oh, crap,” Owen blurted.  He’d never actually _shot_ anyone before.  He stared at the man he’d shot, half-hoping he would get up, but he wasn’t moving. 

“Fuck me,” Scott was saying, by the helicopter’s tail. 

Nyiragongo was timbering. 

Owen shook himself.  Reality snapped back into focus.  He jumped down to the ground.   “Scott!”  he called, running to Scott.  “Are you all right?” 

“I’m all right,” Scott said.  He had pulled the dart out.  He held it up in his fingers, staring blankly at it.  “What is this?  It’s empty.  Why’d he shoot me with an empty dart?” 

Nyiragongo turned his head down to stare at him.  His thick snout reached out to sniff at the dart. 

“Empty?”  Owen reached out for the dart in Scott’s hand.  The dart was the business end, but there was a little glass vial on the tail. 

“It’s not empty!  It’s in you!”  Owen said.  He stared at Scott.   “Avocathan!  This is the stuff they were shooting at us this afternoon!” 

“It’s poison?” Scott said.  His hand flew up to his chest.  “What, am I going to fall over and die?”

“No, no, it’s harmless to humans.  He wasn’t aiming at you!”  Owen pointed to Nyiragongo.  “He was aiming at _him!”_

Nyiragongo noticed Owen’s pointing finger.  He timbered, and shuddered from head to tail. 

<He jumped in the way,> he signed.  <I think he has saved my life, this night.> 

<I think that too,> Owen agreed. 

<Tell him,> Nyiragongo stepped backwards, tail waving.  <Tell him that the debt is paid.>

<What debt?>

<He knows,> Nyiragongo hiss-snapped.  <Tell him.>

“He knows you just saved his life,” Owen said to Scott.  “And he says to tell you the debt is paid.” 

“Yeah?”  Scott looked at Nyiragongo.  “Yeah, I guess it is.  Go figure.” 

“What debt?” Owen asked. 

“It’s a long story,” Scott said.  He looked around at the night.  “We’ve got twenty minutes, buddy.  I need to get the chopper started.”

“Yeah,” Owen agreed.  “What do you need me to do?”

“Just keep an eye out for any more of these jokers!”  Scott said.  He ran back to the helicopter’s cockpit. 

Owen went to the suitcases.  He knelt in front of one and pulled it to face him.  A quick snap opened the clasps, and he lifted the lid. 

Ranks of little glass bottles glittered in the floodlights.  Avocathan!  And _lots_ of it. 

“Not on my watch,” Owen grunted.  He stood up and flipped the suitcase upside down.  Glass fell and twinkled on the painted tar.  He grabbed up the other suitcase, opened it, and turfed its contents out as well. 

“What are you doing?” Scott asked. 

“What’s it look like?”  Owen said.  He started to stamp on the bottles.  Glass crunched under the treads of his boots.   _Stamp, stamp, stamp._   He danced an angry little hornpipe on the glass, making sure that every single bottle was crushed.  Glass and liquid was mashed into a paste that shone under the harsh lights.  The sweet scent of Avocathan hit his nostrils. 

“Shoot my raptors, will you?” Owen growled.  “Not on my watch…”  He’d missed a bottle, and he pursued over the helipad and crushed it.  “Start that helicopter!”  he called to Scott

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Scott shouted.  “Hold them off if they come before Mikey gets here!  I need time to get the rotors up to speed!” 

“How long?”  Owen said.    

“Four minutes!”  Scott shut the pilot’s door with a _clunk!_   The helicopter’s engine roared to life. 

Owen went down on one knee, AK47 ready.  The rotors above his head began to move – slowly at first, but quickening.  Long shadows were turning around the helipad.    The first breath of prop-wash brushed his cheeks. 

Nothing moved around them.  “Come on,” Owen muttered.  “Where are you guys?  Move it up a bit, we’ve got to go.” 

He didn’t know how long they’d taken to get here, but he was sure it was more than fifteen minutes.  The enemy was going to hear the sound of the engine, and they would figure out what they were doing.  They had to go, or be belly-deep in Gomez men! 

The rotors were whipping now, too fast to see.  The pitch of the engine was climbing, shrieking.  He turned his head.  Scott was visible through the glass.  He had found himself a helmet, and his head was turning here and there, prepping to fly. 

He raised his head and looked at Owen, and beckoned through the glass.

“Gongo!” Owen shouted.  <Follow me!> He turned and ran to the cargo cabin of the helicopter.  He clambered up. 

“How much longer?”  Owen shouted at Scott, cupping his hands. 

“A minute!” Scott shouted.  “Jeeze, where are they?” 

The sound of the engine was becoming painful.  Owen looked around the cabin, and spotted a set of earphones.  He grabbed it and put it on.  As they clamped down around his head, he could hear Scott’s voice, crowing to himself in the pilot’s seat. 

“Let’s get this show on the road!  Chopper on the hopper!  Let’s go, Ghostbusters!  Time to rock and roll, Mikey!  Come on, Slowbridge!  Let’s go!  Let’s go!  Let’s go!” 

The helicopter’s pitch was climbing, rotors speeding up, ready to fly. 

Owen moved to the wide cargo door of the helicopter and looked out onto the helipad.  <Come, now!> Owen signed to Nyiragongo. 

The Cloud had not followed Owen.  He was wincing visibly from the roar of the engines.  His hide was flowing with colours. 

<I will stuff something in your ears!> Owen promised.  <Come, now!> 

Nyiragongo hiss-snapped, and moved forward.  His narrow pupils glanced warily up at the rotors, now slicing above him.  He pressed his big body as low to the ground as he could and scuttled up into the cabin.  

The belly of the helicopter seemed a lot smaller with just one Cloud in it.  Owen reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handkerchief.  He tore it in half and wadded it. 

“Gongo!” he said, and reached up for the Cloud’s head.  Nyiragongo held still and allowed Owen to wedge the wads into his ears. 

<Better!> the Cloud signed. 

“Michael!” Scott shouted.  Nyiragongo cough-barked in Owen’s ear. 

Owen turned. 

Michael Stonebridge was running onto the helipad.  Other figures were moving behind him in the dark. 

“Run, run, run!” Scott shouted. 

Someone was chasing Stonebridge, shooting wildly.  Stonebridge ducked as he ran, but someone else was swooping in behind him.  It was Copper.  She ran toward the man shooting at Stonebridge. 

The enemy saw the raptor and bolted.  Copper let him go.  She raced after Stonebridge. 

Stonebridge was sprinting, arms and legs pumping like a machine.  Owen leaned out of the cabin, grabbed his arms and yanked him in.  A second later Copper leaped in after him.  Man and Cloud piled up in the cabin, shoving Nyiragongo out of the way. 

“Michael!”  Scott yelled.  

“I’m in!”  Stonebridge shouted.  “One more to come!” 

La Leona’s men were pouring down the path in pursuit of Stonebridge. 

“We’ve got company!” Owen shouted.  “And they look real pissed!” 

“Shit’s gonna hit the fan!”  Scott said.  “Gotta go!”  He pulled back on his controls, and the helicopter moved. 

Owen saw the men kneeling, and their guns were lining on the helicopter like a firing squad.   And then the firing squad seemed to be sliding sideways.  The treads were off the ground. and the helicopter was swivelling in the air. 

“Wait, Scott!” 

“We’ve got one more to come!” Stonebridge shouted. 

“Can’t wait!  Gotta go!” 

“There she is!”  Owen yelled.  He pointed out through the open door, even though they couldn’t see him.  “She’s coming!”   

Ash broke from the trees, sprinting toward them.  Her head was down, racing, accelerating.  Copper cough-barked at the sight of her. 

“Shit!” Scott barked.  “Move, move, move!” 

The ground was moving under them.  They’d left the ground, but they were skimming, barely under control.  Scott was sliding the helicopter away from the men with guns, making distance over the ground. 

“We gotta go, now!” Scott said. 

“Come _on!”_ Owen shouted at Ash, urging her with his arm.   Nyiragongo leaned his head out of the door, and screamed.  Copper screamed with him.  Their voices turned into a horrible train-brakes shriek, even over the roar of the engine. 

Ash was sprinting to catch up.  Her powerful haunches were driving her.  She hammered after them, outstripping the humans down the lawn, but she was racing bullets, and she was out of time. 

“Wait!” Owen yelled. 

There was a sudden burst of gunfire; a hammering of full auto.  The firing squad had opened fire.  They couldn’t save their helicopter, so they would shoot it down instead.  Bullets were hitting the helipad, ricocheting. 

Owen ducked.  It seemed like they would crash, as if the helicopter couldn’t possibly withstand the gunfire.  He saw the glass exploding from a shattered window. 

“Nope, gotta go!”  Scott yelled.  “Up, up, up!” 

Owen’s stomach dropped as the ground fell away. 

“Wait!” Owen yelled, but it was too late.  The helicopter was climbing vertically. 

“Ash!” he yelled.  He lunged for the door, despairing – but Ash was still coming.  She leaped under the helicopter, just as the helicopter leapt away from her.  Her teeth and claws hooked onto the treads. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”  Scott yelled as hundreds of kilos abruptly changed the  aircraft’s trim.  The chopper lurched under them.  “Fuck, what was that?” 

Owen was thrown face-first against the opposite seat, pain slashing across his cheekbone.  He clutched at his seat as the helicopter swung in mid-air, and fell forward as the helicopter seemed to flip itself around him.  “That was Ash!”

“Collective, collective, collective!” Scott was shouting.  The chopper’s engine howled, a noise it was not supposed to make.  “Up, up, up!” 

“Scott!”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” 

They rose so abruptly that Owen’s stomach dropped.  A second later Owen’s stomach surged up again, as the helicopter dropped like a stone.  Ash screamed. 

“Shit!” Scott howled. 

 “I thought you said you could fly a chopper!” Stonebridge shouted. 

“I can fly a chopper!  You’ve seen me!”  Scott yelled back. 

“No, mate, I saw you _take off!_ You _crashed_ the last one!” 

“Dude, that thing was full of bullets!”  Scott yelled.  “It was like flying a colander!” 

“ _This_ chopper is full of bullets!  Bullets _you put there!”_

The floor steadied under Owen.  His eyes and inner ear agreed that they were flying level, and not falling.  He coughed onto the seat, and shoved himself upright.  His face burned from slamming into a steel buckle. 

Nyiragongo was still at the door.  His head twisted back to scream at Owen, then he lunged forward as if he was going to dive face first from the belly of the helicopter.  He grabbed the edge of the floor with one four-fingered fist, and lunged down with the other.  He heaved, and suddenly Ash’s head was above the floor. 

Owen lunged forward.  The wind whipped at his hair, slicing at his eyes.  Ash was still clinging to the treads under the helicopter, hanging on in the air as if the aircraft was her prey, her eyes wide.  Owen caught a glimpse of the rooftops of the villa spinning below her. He grabbed the edge of the floor for purchase, and reached down for Ash’s clutching forehand with his other hand. 

He was bumped from behind by Copper.  Copper’s massive head lunged down over Owen, leaning all the way out of the helicopter’s cabin.  She sank her thick teeth into the back of her sister’s neck, and heaved upward with her enormous neck. 

With a heave, Owen and Copper and Nyiragongo dragged Ash up to safety.  Ash sprawled on the floor of the helicopter, scrabbling with her talons as if she was afraid that she was going to fall through the floor.  

“Easy, girl!  Easy, there.  We’ve got you!” Owen shouted.  “You’re okay, big girl!” 

Nyiragongo reached out with one forehand, and ran the door closed. Clunk. 

Owen fell back against the seat.  They were safe; airborne.  They were snug inside the helicopter, and getting further from La Leona with every beat of the rotors. 

Owen realized that he was shaking.  His body was wrung with sweat, and his muscles hurt.  It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes, but he felt as if he’d fought ten rounds against Mayweather.

“And _away_ we go!” Scott was hollering like a madman.  “Yeeee-hahhh!” 

“Concentrate on flying!” Stonebridge was shouting to Scott.  “We need more height!  You can’t see the ground!” 

“I’m climbing!”

“Just … don’t _do_ any more _down!  Please!”_

“I got this!  I can do this!” 

The helicopter lurched, wanting to go off to the left.  Scott corrected.

“There we go!” Scott said.  “See, I told you I could fly a helicopter!”

“Just concentrate on flying!” Stonebridge shouted at him.    

A few more moments of intense concentration passed.  They were still in the air.  Owen found himself looking around. 

The helicopter’s cabin lights were dim.  The small space was crowded with Clouds, packed in on top of each other.  Ash was crouched on the floor, but clinging to the seat so hard her talons was tearing the padding.  She was splattered with blood.  Some of that blood must be her own, from Copper's teeth on her neck, but surely not all of it.  She looked like she'd rolled in in.  What the hell had she been doing? 

<We fly!> Nyiragongo signed.  He was still craning his long neck out of the shattered window, watching the forest passing below. 

Copper snapped at him, irritated, and flushed the same colour as the seats. 

Owen looked out through the window.  They were moving.  And he could see the fire behind the villa from up here.  It was burning nicely; golden flames contrasting against the cold electric lights of the villa. 

“It’s a good ship this,” Scott said.  “She’s a sturdy old girl.  Bit different to the one I trained on, but it’s all good.”

“When we get to town, you’re going to have to handle the bucket as well,” Stonebridge warned.    

“Yeah, I’ll do a bit of testing on the way.  Now that we’ve got the chopper.”   

“Next stop, San Judas Tadeo!” Owen said. 

“Third star to the right, and straight on till morning!”  Scott crowed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter!


	12. The final battle

The helicopter sank tentatively toward the ground.  Scott turned his head from side to side, trying to see.  With the search-light broken, and with no runway lights to aim at, he had only the lights of Flavio’s control tower to judge his altitude.

Delicately, delicately… He lowered the craft as gently as he could.  He might be inches off the ground, he might be six feet off; it was all black.  He could almost feel the treads of the helicopter as if they were an extension of his own brain, as he reached them down toward the earth. 

Gently, gently…

A bump, a tiny shudder through the airframe… the treads had made contact.  Another bump, and it had settled. They were down. 

Collective… pedals… throttle all the way to idle… off. 

The engine immediately spooled down.  Scott sat for a moment, controls still in his hands, as the rotors above started to slow.  They were down, but the rotors were still spinning, trying to push the aircraft, and he couldn't let go just yet. He could feel the sweat inside his helmet.  

“You did it, buddy!” Stonebridge said. Scott felt his hand reach over and pound on Scott's shoulder. 

“Heh, I _told_ you I could fly a helicopter,” Scott said.  “Wait – Owen, not yet!  Wait for the rotors!”

Owen didn’t wait.  He opened the cabin door and jumped out.  The rotors were still spinning around his head, but he paid them no attention, just lowered his head and ran for the lights. The three Clouds squabbled as they followed Owen through the door, tumbled to the ground through the open door, and a moment later they'd disappeared into the dark.  

Scott saw Owen running across the airstrip, and Flavio running to meet him.  Alan Grant and one of the fire-fighters were right behind him.  They met just beyond the scoop of the rotors, and Scott saw shoulders being clapped, and grins.  A moment later Flavio pointed away through the darkness.  Owen took off, running. 

“Going to find his girlfriend,” Michael said. 

“Don't you mean hetero-species life-partner?” Scott corrected.  After seeing the horror  on Owen’s face, Scott was _never_ going to let _that_ one go. 

The rotors had slowed down to a lazy spiral, and Scott took his hands off the controls.  The helicopter didn’t move.  The rotors were moving, but not strongly enough to push the machine. 

“Let’s get that bucket and go,” he said to Michael.

They jumped out of the helicopter.  Flavio, Grant and the fire-fighter met them just beyond the scooping disc of the rotors.    

“Damien!” Flavio yelled, thumping Scott’s shoulder.  “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah, we’re all okay,” Scott said, returning the excited shoulder-thumping.  “We did it!  And we’ve got the chopper!”  Scott jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to his new ride. 

“Let’s hitch up the bucket and go,” Michael said. 

“Yes,” Grant said.  “We’ve laid it out, all ready to go.  We just need to hitch it up to the cargo-hook, and away we go!” 

“No!” interrupted the firefighter.  “Not in the dark!” 

“Yes!” Scott said.  “Come on, let’s go, let’s get this show on the road!”

“No,” said the firefighter.  “It’s too late!  The moon has set!  You can’t see where you’re flying, it’s too dangerous.” 

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Scott said.  “That fire is too damn close to this town!  Come on, Flavio, let’s get that bucket hooked up!” 

“Um,” Flavio said. 

“You can’t fly in the dark!” the fire-fighter insisted.  “Helitack always stops at night. Always.  It’s just too dangerous if you can’t see where you’re flying.” 

“You can’t see from down here how close this fire is!” Michael said to the firefighter.  “It’s jumped all the firebreaks, and it’s still coming.” 

“I know that, but you can't fly if you can't see!”  the firefighter insisted.  “You’re going to drag the bucket on the ground, or you’ll clip a tree with your rotors, and you’ll crash.  We have to wait for first light!” 

“After all the shit we went through to get that helicopter,” Scott complained, “now you want us to sit on our asses and _wait?”_  

“Throwing it away by crashing in the dark, _that_ would be a waste!” the fire-fighter insisted. 

“He’s got a point,” Flavio said. 

“No, he doesn’t,” Scott insisted.  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take!” 

“He _does,”_ Flavio stiffened his back, glaring at Scott.  “And I’d like to see you fuel it without me!” He crossed his arms across his chest.  “Damien _, mi amigo_ , we _have_ to wait.” 

“Ah-h-h, _fuck,”_ Scott rubbed both hands over the back of his head, and turned away, frustrated.    “Have I mentioned to you before how much I hate fire?  I really, really, really hate fire…” 

 

* * *

 

Owen didn’t get very far away from the airstrip.  He ran through the dark streets.  Ahead of him, a black shape threw itself around a corner, and screamed like a freight train. 

That could only be StripeSide.  “Blue!” he called out.  He skidded to a stop and raised both hands to her, waiting to greet her with their usual caress.

But instead, she threw herself at him as if she was a hatchling. No dignity here, no Alpha pride.  Clearly she didn’t care who saw the queen raptor right now.  She leaped at him, and rammed her hard face into his. He closed his hands around her head, rubbing his face against hers.  Her hard skull felt like hugging a junction-box, but he wrapped his arms around her head, stroking her throat, pressing his cheeks against her jaw.

“There’s my girl,” he spoke to her.  “There’s my Blue!  Beautiful Blue, gorgeous girl.  Atta girl, Blue.  Easy there…  I’m all right.  I'm all right.  I'm all right.”

He could feel her trembling.  She made a trilling sound – happiness and relief and stress, all rolled up in one cry.  She pulled her head back, and he let her go.  She stepped back from him, raising her head. 

<You came back!> she signed. 

<I came back,> he signed. <Never would I leave you!> 

<You are covered in blood!> she signed, snapping her teeth. 

<None of it is mine,> he said.  <I am unhurt.  The Clouds fought, and this is the blood of the people they fought.  We could not have won without them.  They fought well.> 

<I command here!> she signed.

<Yes, this I know.>

<No, you know not.  RoundAlpha left me in charge.  A Real Person has commanded humans and Real People together!  And BentTail and SlidingRocks have left.  They thought you would not return.  BentTail would have challenged me, but decided not to.  They have fled down the river instead.  BentTail thinks we cannot save this place.> 

<We have the blade-and-clatter,> Owen signed.  <We will save this place!> 

<BentTail is wrong,> she signed.  <Is BentTail wrong?  Perhaps BentTail is not wrong?>

<BentTail is wrong!>  he repeated.  <You will see!  Come!  We must go away, and see RoundAlpha!  We have brought the blade-and-clatter!> 

<We go!> 

She leaped away, and he jogged after her.  They made their way up to the plaza quickly.  She kept craning her head back over her shoulder to check on him every few strides, as if he would disappear if she let him straggle behind her. 

He found the town square in as much fuss and frenzy as he had left it.  There were fire-fighters here now, and Owen stared at them, as he headed up for the large table where Guerrero was still holding court.  Where had fire-fighters come from so suddenly? 

“Owen!” Virgilio Guerrero called. 

“Virgilio!”  Owen strode up to the map table. 

“You made it!” Guerrero said.  “I didn’t think you’d do it!” 

“I had help,” Owen said.  “We’ve brought the helicopter.”

“Yes!  We heard you coming in!  Captain Rubio!” Guerrero called to a man in a fire-fighter’s uniform.  “This is Owen Grady, the partner of StripeSide.  Owen – Captain Rubio, Florencia Fire Service.  They got here this afternoon just after you left.” 

The fire-fighter was a tough-looking Afro-Colombian.  Owen shook hands, and found the man had a solid and warm handshake. 

“Glad to meet you, Captain,” Owen said.  “We’ve seen the fire from the air.  It’s real close to the edge of town – we had to fly over it to get here!  It’s just the other side of the fields now.”

“It’s come over every fire-break we’ve put up,” Guerrero said.  “It’s just burning too hot.” 

“The helicopter came just in time then,” Owen said.  “The sooner we get it in the air the better…”

Rubio shook his head.  “We have to wait for sunrise,” he said. 

“What?” Owen stared at him. 

“We don’t have light to see,” Rubio said.  “We don’t have night-vision equipment – infrared cameras – night-qualified pilots.  Your pilot will be flying blind.  He'll crash in the dark – and then we’ll be worse off than if we wait.” 

“This is the only helicopter we’ve got," Guerrero said.  "We can’t risk it.  No moon, no ground lighting, an inexperienced pilot."

“The fire is just the other side of the fields,” Owen said.  “It’s going to be in the town in an hour – or less!” 

“We have to wait for morning,” Guerrero said. 

“Morning is hours away,” Owen said.  “Half this town could burn down before morning!  All the boats have gone.  All these people, where are they going to go?  They have nowhere left to go!” 

“I know that, Owen!” Guerrero said.  “That’s why we decided to sacrifice the fields!  We back-burned all the fields outside the town.  It’s our last line of defence.  We have to defend that firebreak with everything we’ve got.” 

Owen bit his lip.  He'd seen how this fire had leaped over every obstacle they had put in its way.  He'd seen how close it was to the vulnerable outskirts of the town.  

“How long till sunrise?”  Owen asked. 

“About five hours,” the Clerk said. 

“Can we hold this fire off for five hours?” 

“We’ll have to,” Rubio said. "We don't have a choice." 

“And if the fire moves into the town?”  Owen asked. 

“We have to make sure it doesn’t,” Rubio said, grimly. 

Guerrero turned around on the spot.  “All right,” he said, running his fingers through his hair which was already a tangle.  “We can’t put all our faith in one fire-break.”

“We have to,” Rubio said.  “We must…” 

“I can’t depend on that,” Guerrero said.  “This fire has jumped over everything else we've done.  We'll put all the old people and the kids into the church.  It's stone.  If we can’t hold the fire-break – if the fire comes up here, the church won’t burn down…”

Owen turned to look at the church.  He could see the stone steeple, high overhead, reflecting the glare of lights in the square.  It floated above the turmoil below. 

“It’ll get horribly smoky and hot in there,” Rubio said.  “It’s not safe.” 

“It’s the safest place we've got until the boats come back upriver,” Guerrero said.  “We just have to make sure the houses around them don’t burn…” he turned around. 

“Listen up!” Guerrero shouted.  “New plan!” 

His shout caught the attention of everyone around them, including StripeSide and her messengers.  “Mayor?”  the Clerk said. 

“We’re going to put the old people in the stone buildings, until the boats come back! The church, and the hospital, and the town hall are stone buildings! Stone won't burn down!  So we’re going to put one more firebreak around this plaza!  Nothing stays here that can burn!  No furniture!  No plants!  No fences!  Pull down that patio there – and the garden there!” 

“Pull it down?” 

“Yes!  Pull it down!  Pull it all down!  Remove anything that will burn!  Nothing wood must remain around the church!  This map table – you, come here and get rid of this table – throw it over the cliff!” Guerrero ordered.  “Owen – tell StripeSide to get her people to help, they’re strong!” 

Owen turned to StripeSide and started signing.  <We pull down everything here, everything that can burn, so that the people hiding in the stone houses are safe.  Your people must help them!> 

She whirled away with a shriek, and SnailEater shrieked back at her.  She sprang at his face, killing-claws lashing out – giving her orders with the usual raptor aggressive drama. 

“And this tree, too,” Guerrero said.  He turned and looked up at the tree over his head.  “This tree has to go, too…” 

Owen looked up at the leafy branches over his head, cupping the glare of the electric lights like a sheltering roof.  The shady tree at Raptor Central, under which the raptors slept during the day.  The sheltering tree under which they had all danced and partied last night. 

“This tree is nearly a hundred years old!” the Clerk protested. 

“And I’m thirty-seven, and I say we can’t risk it,” Guerrero said.  “Find a chain-saw, bring it down.  And I need every able-bodied person on the edge of town!  Everyone!  If the fire jumps into the town, we run down to the river and we swim.  We have five hours till sunrise, people!  Five hours until we can use the helicopter!” 

StripeSide’s shrieking was calling other raptors into the square.  Owen turned to StripeSide and yelled, “Blue!” 

<I go to the fire-break to fight,> he signed, when her head turned to face him. 

She dropped her lower jaw and screamed.  <I am coming with you!  I am not letting you leave me again!  Where you go, I will follow!>   

<No, you should stay here!> 

<No!  My duty here is done!  This is fate, now!  We have done as much as we are able!>

They left the square, running down through the streets to the edge of town. 

It was the middle of the night, and San Judas Tadeo looked like a city under siege.  Nobody was sleeping, not tonight, with the threat just outside town and getting closer, one burning tree at a time.  Every house door was open, and people were moving around.  Some people had decided to drag all their furniture out of their homes, and piled them up in the streets, as if they could take it all with them.  Other people were dragging buckets of water up and sluicing their rooftops wet, in the hopes of keeping cinders from their thatch. 

He reached the plain, and the last few houses.  He turned the corner where the houses opened out, where usually the road stretched away through the patchwork quilt of manioc fields.  He stopped, knowing he had found the front lines. 

“Jesus,” he said, stopping dead in the roadway, staring out across the fields.  He heard StripeSide make a warble of fright at his side. 

The fire was here. 

It was separated from him by a few hundred yards of back-burned fields.  There was nothing left standing between flames and the town. 

He’d thought it was close from the sky, but down on the ground he could actually _feel_ it.  The air was thick and hot.  Smoke filled the air, shrouding the gaze so that the people at his side looked ghostly from just a few feet away.  The glare of the flames, so close, lit everyone’s face up with a lurid red cast.

 Owen could see towers of flame snaking against the sky, towering above the trees.  Hurricanes of hot gas raged inside it.  He could see massive tree trunks in the wall of fire, turned into huge writhing candles as they died.  It was a vision of hellfire inside which no living thing could survive.The raptor pavilions where Owen and StripeSide had lived for three weeks was somewhere inside that hellish storm, gone forever, burned to ash.   

 The blaze was creating its own weather now, sucking the air into itself, and he could feel the air moving on his cheeks. He could hear it clearly, the voice of the fire.  It was a deep crackling and rushing, and under that sharp chorus was a deep booming roar like thunder.   It was a hungry animal, an army of animals, seeking fuel, sucking in air, feeling its way forward, feeding greedily and shouting in triumph as it came… 

An impenetrable wall of death was closing around them.  To be touched by the wall was death.  To attempt to break through the wall was death.  They had no choice but to stand here and fight. 

Owen looked around.  StripeSide was hunched low in alarm, stamping her feet.  There were other people and dinosaurs here.  Almost everyone in the town was here, on the edge of the houses.  He could see people and dinosaurs moving in the red glare, fighting side by side.  On his right, he saw the school teacher and the two women who ran the barber-shop; on his left were a group of the Andaqui, shouting in their language.  The firefighters were spread out in the line, directing and coordinating.  

The wind picked up around him, harder and faster.  The breeze was swirling in, sucking in piece of lint and dust from the fields.  The wind was fuelling the fire harder and hotter.  It was still coming.  The firebreak had chewed up the fuel, but it was not enough. 

He turned to look at StripeSide.  Her eyes were fixed on the fire, flame glittering in the diamonds of her eyes.  Her talons were clenching and unclenching, and as he looked at her he saw her stamping her feet in agitation. 

“Easy, Blue,” he said, and reached out one hand.  He rested his palm on the hard slope of her spine.  “Easy, Blue, atta girl.  We’re okay, we’re going to be okay…” 

She turned her head to him, and hissed.  <Too hot!>  she signed.  <Too hot!  I feel it, I see it.  Too hot!> 

He couldn’t even imagine how the fire looked to her.  Raptors could see thermal signatures.  That fire had to be hundreds of degrees – what did it look like to her?  It was a lurid vision of hell to him – what did she see? 

“Owen!  It’s still coming!”

Owen spotted the barman of the cantina, coming toward him. 

“We burned off the fields an hour ago,” the man said to him.  “But it’s not going to be enough!  Look!”  He pointed his hand over head and Owen turned and looked up. 

The towering hurricanes of flame across the field was streaking streamers of flame into the sky – towers of sparkling cinders.  Tiny darts of lights were floating across the night sky, against the smoke-yellow stars. 

Oddly beautiful, those lethal outriders…

He saw StripeSide’s long head turned up to see, and realized she had looked up because he had.  He saw her hunch down against the ground in fright.  <Heat!> she signed.  <Too hot!>

They had contained the fire, holding it back against the burned out fields, but it was not going to be enough.  The flying embers were going to jump clear over their firebreak, and lodge in these rooftops, in the kitchen-gardens and lean-tos.  In minutes they could be fighting a thousand spot-fires. 

Not one of those flying embers could be allowed to lodge in thatch and spark a spot-fires.  Every single ember would have to be fought and extinguished, or the town’s wooden houses would burn. 

“We have to make a stand here!” A few yards away, one of the firefighters was shouting instructions to a group of townsmen, pointing.  “Those embers can’t be allowed to start spot-fires!  The firebreak will prevent it coming any closer – we have a chance to stop it jumping over!  You – and you!  Follow me!  You lot!  Anywhere you see the spot fires starting you pour water.  You and you and you – buckets!  We need that bucket chain up here, right now!” 

He turned and saw Owen.  “Owen!” he shouted.  “Tell the raptors we need them to track the embers!  Can they do that?”

“They can do that!”  Owen agreed.  “They can see heat!” 

“If they tell us where the hot spots are we can put them out!” 

Owen turned.  “Blue!” he shouted.  <We fight!> 

<How?>  she signed, stepping rapidly in a figure-of-eight in agitation.  Her back snaked sinuously.  <How?> 

<Use your bloodheat!  Find the sparks before they burn, and we will fight them!  With these!>  He reached down and slapped his palm against the Pulaski thrust into his belt.  <You track, and we fight!> 

She hiss-snapped at him.  She dashed away, and drew the other raptors around in a flurry of movement.  She lashed out, snapping her teeth and screaming, and a second later the little pack broke up, raptors racing along the line. 

* * *

 

Ian Malcolm limped into the church, and paused in the doorway, leaning on his cane.

It was almost dark in here.  The light shone through the stained-glass, high over head, casting a spooky pattern of light against the stone ceiling.  The church nave was crowded with people, old people, disabled people, the sickly and the lame.  Half the town seemed to be here, quiet, grim, cowering in the dark.    

The noise was hushed, sombre.  Earlier there had been children playing, running and squalling, but no longer.  Now there was a grim silence, broken only by the miserable grousing of scared children, frightened by the expressions on the adults’ faces.  This place was a hiding place, not a sanctuary.  They could do nothing now but endure, and wait, and pray.  He saw rosaries being spoken; heard the quiet murmur of prayer, saw the glitter of little votive candles. 

Prayer was not for a mathematician.  He turned away from the prayer circles, and saw the Englishman, Roy, sitting against the wall. 

“Ah, hello there,” Malcolm said in an undertone.  It didn’t seem fitting to speak loudly in such a fear-steeped atmosphere.  “Mind if you join me?” 

“Don’t mind if you do,” Roy said, raising his grey brows. 

Malcolm leaned his hand on the wall, and lowered himself carefully to the ground.  He leaned his cane alongside his stiff leg.  

Roy reached into his pocket and pulled out his inhaler.  He put his mouth around it, and gave himself a few puffs. 

“Asthma?” Malcolm asked.

Roy nodded, and put the inhaler away.  “The smoke doesn’t help,” he said, hoarsely. 

For a moment they sat together.  Malcolm wrapped his arms around himself.  He could see a woman rocking three toddlers on her lap – surely not all hers, which meant some of the mothers were down there too, fighting alongside their husbands to save their children. 

It was going to be a long night.  Outside, on the outskirts of town, people and velociraptors were beating back the flames as desperately as they could.  Working together, they might – _might_ – have a chance of holding back the fire until it burned back on itself and ran out of fuel.  Working _together_ – human ingenuity and raptor muscles in harness against a common enemy that would destroy them both. 

“This is the turning point,” Malcolm said. 

“Yes,” Roy said.  “If we can’t turn back the fire now, the whole town will go up in smoke.” 

“I’m not talking about the fire,” Malcolm said.   He reached his fingers for the end of his cane; the amber was smooth and hard in his hand.  He thought about how much this orb of amber had seen, first in Hammond’s hands, and then his own.  “I’m talking about the raptors.” 

“Why?” 

“Because all this,  all of this, everything that’s happening here…  Humans and raptors, standing side by side, together against a common enemy…”

“I’ve got hours of footage,”  Roy said.  “And Maggie has established a connection with Reuters with the fire-fighters’ equipment.  We've got plenty of proof that they’re intelligent.” 

“You don’t understand,” Malcolm said.  “This has nothing to do with their intelligence.  This has to do with the fire.  Fire is the enemy.  There’s something primal about fire – about our response to fire.  Fire speaks to us on a visceral level.  It’s embedded in our culture.  Hellfire and damnation.  Fire and brimstone.  Burning for eternity in Hades.  Fire represents all that is evil.”

“History,” Roy said. 

“Not just history,” Malcolm said.  _“Pre-_ history.  Fire was a threat to humans and dinosaurs, exactly the same.  It’s as dangerous now as it was 71 million years ago.   Standing before fire, there is nothing but ourselves, the raw truth of ourselves.  This, right here, is where we look at each other and see the Being within the Beast.” 

“Right,” Roy agreed, although Malcolm could see he didn’t really understand. 

But Malcolm was used to people not understanding.  “Never mind,” he said.  “You don’t understand.” 

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying this fire is the event that changes the world.  This fire is the moment that future generations will look back on and say, _there,_ that was when the world changed.” 

“And what happens now?”

“Oh, no, _I_ haven’t the faintest idea,” Malcolm said.  “All major changes are like death.  You can’t see to the other side until you are there.  Endless recursions, endless ramifications.  Endless forms, most beautiful…” 

He leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

* * *

 

FireMountain had tumbled out of the helicopter, and ran after his sisters.  They raced through the dark, straight through the forest to the river.  Ash ran straight to the water’s edge and plunged into the water. 

Copper followed her.  They rolled wildly in the water, kicking up a froth, rubbing their backs and bodies against the gritty bottom to clean themselves. 

FireMountain followed more slowly.  He hadn’t killed as much as his sisters, but he could feel the blood drying on his talons and his killing-claws.  Not a pleasant sensation, even if the blood _was_ that of your enemies.  There was something _wrong_ about killing humans.  He washed himself off carefully, dipping into the water, stroking his talons against his face and breastbone to loosen the blood and rub it off. 

Ash had a human who could clean her much more effectively, but FireMountain guessed that she wasn’t happy to show herself to him looking like this.  Her teeth, her talons, her face and her breast were coated in blood.  She looked like she had rolled in gore.  She looked like a monster, and she knew it.  “Never again,” she cried, “Never again!” 

FireMountain cleaned his talons, and his teeth, and left them alone.  He trotted up the river bank. 

The air was filled with smoke.  The ridge on which the town was built was between him and the approaching fire, but he had seen how close it was from the windows of the helicopter.  It was chewing its way closer to the human houses with every second.  He’d shivered at how hot it burned, even from the air; a lethal heat, a malevolent sorcerous power closing around the town.  He’d felt it reaching up for him as if it could see him, as if it knew him and wanted to destroy him. 

Surely no power on earth could withstand that power?  Humans claimed they had mastered fire, but how could tiny weak mammals defeat a force of evil as powerful as fire? 

He shuddered, and turned his hide black in dread.  The fire was coming.  He could leave the helicopter to SmokeyOne, but there had to be something more he could do!  This fight would take all of their efforts! 

“Come!” he called.  “Come, let us find StripeSide, and see what she will have us do!” 

He didn’t wait for them to reply, but leaped into a run.  He ran from the darkness up to the start of the streets, where the human houses backed onto the water, built high on stilts. 

“FireMountain!” a voice cried out his name. 

FireMountain whirled around.  He saw the bloodheat of a couple of Real People, emerging around a corner to his right.  He recognised them immediately. 

“JaguarPaw?”  he called.  “And SilverNose?” 

“Come here!” SilverNose called.  “We need your help!” 

He obeyed, running to the old ones.  Both were much older than he was.  He skidded to a stop in front of her, staring into the old one’s eyes respectfully. 

“What is this that you do?” he asked. 

“RoundAlpha has given a command!” JaguarPaw said.  “We carry all that will burn away from the invisible person’s house, and the healing house, that the people who shelter there will not be harmed.”

“They are sawing down the big tree,” SilverNose said, “and they will cut it into sections, and we will drag it away!  Come – you are big, you can drag a lot!”

“Call your sisters!”  JaguarPaw snapped his teeth at FireMountain’s neck.  “Call them!” 

FireMountain sat back on his hocks, and aimed for a frequency that his sisters would hear from the river.  “WoodAsh!”  he sang.  “Copper!  Come, we have a task from SilverNose!  We have have work to do!” 

He heard Copper answer. 

He put his head down and ran after SilverNose.  He followed his elders as they raced through the streets, back to the top the hill.  He could smell the smoke thickening as he approached the summit. 

“Why do you smell of blood?”  SilverNose asked. 

“Because we have been fighting!”  FireMountain said. 

“Fighting humans?” the old one asked. 

“We fought the Lioness and her servants so that we could bring the blade-and-clatter,” FireMountain said, enunciating the words carefully for old SilverNose, who probably wasn’t familiar with that new phrase. 

“Yes, we heard it,” SilverNose said. 

“And soon it will fly again!”  FireMountain said.  “Now that we have it, the humans can fly it and fight the fire from the air!” 

“Not soon,” JaguarPaw said.  “Not until morning.”

“Yes, they must,” FireMountain said.  “Why, I do not know how they have not flown already!  The fire is much too close to this place, even now – I saw it with my own eyes and my own heat-sense!” 

“No,” JaguarPaw said.  “They wait for sunrise.” 

“What?” FireMountain skidded to a stop, lashing his tail.  “Why do they wait?” 

“Because humans cannot see in the dark,” JaguarPaw said. 

"What?" FireMountain echoed, incredulous. 

“My human explained it.  She said they cannot see in the dark, and they will crash the blade-and-clatter, and it is the only one they have.” 

“No, they’re idiots!” FireMountain blurted.  

“Excuse me?” JaguarPaw said.  “You think you understand humans better than humans do?” 

“They're _all_ idiots!” FireMountain snapped.  “They don’t need daylight!  Any of us can see perfectly well in the dark!” 

“Oh,and which of _us_ is going to fly a blade-and-clatter?” JaguarPaw snapped his teeth at FireMountain.  “You?”  

FireMountain abruptly ran out of patience with being told what to do.  His elders thought he was just a dumb yearling.  “You are an idiot too!” he snapped at JaguarPaw.  He launched himself into a run, and raced away before JaguarPaw’s wrath could catch up with him. 

 _“What_ did you say to me?” JaguarPaw flared up, rage flashing into his bloodheat.  He  whirled back to face FireMountain.  “Come back here, young one!  You come back here right now and say that again!” 

“No!” he called over his shoulder.  

“Young Real People today have _no manners!”_ JaguarPaw roared after him. 

“Oh, grand-son, stop taking yourself so seriously ..." SilverNose said, her voice fading into the distance.   “You were just as bad at his age…” 

FireMountain put his head down and ran. 

He was the fleetest runner of the Cloud People – he was shorter that the other seven, but he had longer legs.  He pressed his forehands against his breastbone, and sprinted back the way he had come as fast as his legs would go. 

He burst onto the open space of the airstrip and screamed at the top of his lungs.

The helicopter still stood on the end of the airstrip, right where he’d left it.  The rotors had slid to a stop, drooping down elastically as if the machine was tired.  The orange heap of the bucket lay on the ground by its tail, already linked, already to fly. 

The humans were all standing together by the side of the small house that stood close to the side of the airstrip.   He recognised TalksToBones, and the two soldiers BridgeOfStone and SmokeyOne, and the one called MainChance – named because FirstHuman said the main chance was something he had an eye for. 

FireMountain’s screaming arrival had drawn all eyes to him. FireMountain sprang through the air, killing-claws lashing at the air, and landed in front of them.  He screamed again, face to face with SmokeyOne, who backed away hurriedly against the wall. 

<We fly,> FireMountain signed.  <You and me, we fly, now.  You can fly this machine, and I can see!>

 _Whatishe doing?_   SmokeyOne said.  _Flavio whatishe doing?_

<I can see things you cannot,> FireMountain signed.  <I can guide you!  We guided you through the forest, did you think it was dark to us?  If not then, why now?> 

 _Buddy whoawhoawhoa_ , SmokeyOne said, trying to wave him down with a incoherent wave of his hands.  _Idon’t speakthatlanguage…_

FireMountain screamed at him.  He turned his head, and screamed at MainChance and TalksToBones, but neither of them spoke Human Sign either.  He turned his head back to SmokeyOne. 

<You!  Me!> he signed deliberately, as if he was speaking to EatsPlants.  <Fly!  Machine!>  He twisted his head to point his snout at the machine. 

SmokeyOne wasn’t catching the message.  He was shaking his head.  _Nosavvy… sielewi… je ne comprends pas…_

 _Aaaah,_ these dumb humans! 

FireMountain wanted to scream, but screaming at them wouldn’t make them understand any faster.  Was that not FirstHuman’s lesson, repeated over and over to the Real People – you cannot explain yourself to another species by shouting.  As soon as you showed a human you were getting angry, you lost any chance of getting them to cooperate. 

FireMountain looked left and right.  There was nothing here in the dark to write with, nothing to write on.  And these humans were not Pack – they didn’t speak Human Sign.  The fire was coming closer – he didn’t have time to walk away and return with a translator. 

There was nothing else for it.  He could think of only one way to explain himself. 

He reached out with his forehands, and picked up SmokeyOne around the middle.  “I am sorry, but I think this is the only way you are going to understand,” he said, and carried the squawking, thrashing human to the side of the helicopter.  The side cabin of the helicopter was still open. FireMountain picked the human up and pushed him inside. 

SmokeyOne immediately tried to climb out again. 

FireMountain pushed him gently but firmly back inside the cabin again. "No, you're going to have to understand," he said, and then he used his first talon to point, the way humans did. 

He pointed to SmokeyOne’s chest, then to his own chest, then to the front of the helicopter.   _You – me – that!_  

SmokeyOne’s eyes went narrow, in an unreadable human facial expression.  He sat up on hands and knees.  _Whatareyou tryingtosay…?_    he sang. 

FireMountain pointed to SmokeyOne – then to the helicopter.  _You – that._  

Then he pointed to himself, and then with both forehands he pointed to his own eyes.  _Me – eyes!_

SmokeyOne stared at him blankly. 

For pity’s sake, how did such frustratingly slow creatures ever summon the mental strength to build a helicopter in the first place?   

_You – that!  UP!_

_Me!_   He bugged his eyes open as wide as he could, and pointed a talon at each eye, one at a time, slowly.  _Eyes!_

He saw the moment when the human figured it out, because his bloodheat shifted suddenly.  His heart rate was suddenly accelerating, pushing his blood through his face faster and hotter. 

 _Fuckme…_ he said. 

 _Ihavefound paperandpen…!_  MainChance called.  He was running up. 

 _Nevermind thepaperandpen!_ SmokeyOne called out in excitement.  _Michael!  Weneeda saw!_   _Or ananglegrinder…anything!_

_Why…_

_Becauseweneed togetridof thecopilots seat!_

* * *

 

It wasn’t working, Owen thought in despair.  The sacrifice of the fields had not been enough – the firebreak had not been wide enough. 

Across the fields, the treeline was still burning in towers of heat and flame.  Even from hundreds of yards away, he could feel its heat on his skin.  The air being sucked into the mouth of the flames was feeding the storm with oxygen, and it was burning hotter and hotter.  Eventually that wall of fire would consume every living thing in its reach, eventually it would die – but not before it had birthed offspring in the town to continue its work. 

The rising heat was sucking up bits of cinders and ash, and those sparks were flying clear over the back-burned firebreak.  Owen could see them disappearing among the rooftops.  The line of people were running here and there, trying to catch the spot-fires before they could flare into life, but there were too many. 

The battle was won but they were losing the war.  Their firebreak was not going to hold.  The town was a fortress in a sea of fire, and it was going to be over-run.  There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide.  They were going to be swamped, and the whole town would burn. 

He could hear BitterTooth’s cries of agony in his mind. 

He stopped, and turned to StripeSide.  <You should go to the river,> he ordered.  <Run along the banks, in the mud, and get away from here.  You can run faster than we can!  Go, while you can!>

Her head snaked with confusion.  <And you?>

<I will stay here!  You can run faster than we can – leave, run, get away from here!> 

<Leave you?>  She hiss-snapped at him, teeth clacking shut in front of him. 

<Yes!  Go!>

<NO!  Run away like a hatchling?   We will not leave, we will fight!  No!  We said we would stay and fight, and so we will stay and fight!> 

<You must go!> he signed.  <Run!  Save yourselves!  Flee, while you can!>  He backed up his order with a shout.  He ran at her, hands raised in the sign for <Go!>  “Go!  Get out of here!  Scoot!” 

She backed away from him, confused, taking herself out of his reach.  <I will not!> 

<Go!  Flee!  Run away!  Survive!>   He raised his voice, and hit  her in the face with his hand.  “Get out of here!  Go!”

She screamed at him, all her teeth bared.   <No!>  she screamed at him, and signed furiously, her talons snapping.  <I go not!>

<You must!>  “For fuck’s sake, save yourself!” 

Raptors didn’t have facial expressions, but she didn’t need one.  Her scream was a mixture of stubbornness and rage.  She pulled herself down low, breastbone close to the ground, ready to leap into a fight. 

<No!  Never!  Leave you I will not!  We have lived together!  We have fought together!   We will grow old together!>

He might want her to leave, but she made her own decisions.  He knew how stubborn she was.  He admired her stubbornness and her fierce spirit, but right now he wanted to scream back at her. 

<I would not see you die like BitterTooth died!>  he signed.  <Leave me here, and live!> 

< Live, and live alone?> 

He should know better than try to give orders to a queen raptor.  She screamed straight into his face; it felt like standing in front of a jet engine.  An _angry_ jet engine with sharp teeth.  <I will _not leave! >  _

There was no time to sign.  Owen looked up, and saw another flaring ember sinking toward him.  He pushed his way around StripeSide and ran after it.  “Got another one here!” he shouted. 

He found the trickle of smoke already seeping up from the corner of a roof. He shouted as he reached overhead with the axe and chopped at the thatch.  He hooked the axehead into the thatch,  ripping it out and dragging it down.  He pulled down a tangle of thatch, leaping out of the way as it tumbled around him, and then kicked it around, dancing on it, stamping with his boots.  The smoking ember went out, crushed.  

But that was just one break, one point.  Their line was being broken in multiple places, and as he turned he realized there was fire behind him, now.  He could see flickering flames behind him, reflecting against the walls. 

“Jesus,” he said, stepping back.  “It’s behind us!” 

“Owen!” there was another man with him.  It was the bartender - the first man Owen had met in this town. 

“This way!”  Owen waved his hand and led a rush to find the new flare-up.  A house was already burning.  He reached up and thumped the axe into the thatch, tried to copy his twisting movement to haul out the dry thatch, but his movement just brought out a sudden flash of flame.  He was forced back as it seemed to blaze directly at him. 

“We have to get out of here!” the bartender shouted, grabbing at his arm.  “This way!” 

They ran back the way they had come, trampling over vegetables and tripping over runners.  StripeSide screamed.  The wall of flame on the edge of the forest was in front of them; new fires were starting up behind them.  It was too late, too late.  The fire had lodged in the rooftops.  They’d held this part of the line, but the flames had broken through elsewhere.

“This way!” the barman shouted, dashing away, and then stopped short as he realized that way was cut off.  They were in someone's garden.  It was familiar ground, a happy place, but now it was filled with smoke and flames.  It was dark, confusing, alien, frightening.

"Not happening!"  Owen whirled to get out the way they'd come, but a wall crashed down, and the way was blocked with flames.  Just like that, they were trapped. 

Fires all around.  Fire everywhere.  The flames burned his retinas.  His sweat was thick on his skin. 

“Blue!”  Owen shouted, turning and looking for her. 

He saw her turn and look at him, the firelight flickering over her bright hide.  She spread her jaws and screamed, and it was not her aggressive train-whistle scream, but a wail of distress. 

"Blue!" he shouted, in despair.  She was trapped with him, and it was his fault!  Hold, he'd said, and she'd followed, and he'd let her here to this!  "Blue!" 

She leaped for him.  A second later her head rammed into him. 

He closed his arms around her head, bending his back over her head and neck, shielding her with his body.  Her face was pressed into his chest, hiding her eyes and her ears, hiding her nostrils and her heat sense against his body.  He could feel her panting and shaking against him. 

 _“Easy, girl,”_ he whispered.  _“Easy, girl, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, easy, easy, easy…”_

They were trapped here.  They were going to die here.  He'd led her here, and now they were going to die here. 

Everything decision he'd made had led them here.  Everything he had seen since that afternoon on Isla Nublar, everything that had happened since that day had led them both to this moment.  Every step he’d taken had brought him to this place, this garden of flames, this fate. 

“I chose this,” he chanted to her.  “I chose this path, and I regret nothing, I came here and I chose this and I chose _you_ and I regret nothing, _nothing, nothing…”_   and he squeezed his eyes closed.  He pressed his face against the back of her hard rough neck, and squeezed her close as if he could save her, as if nothing in the world could separate them …

There was a roaring around him, a storm of sound. 

So this was death, he thought.  It was noisier than he expected…

“Look _out!”_ a voice howled.  “It’s com- _ing DOWWWWN!”_

Something hit his body, hard, hammering on his back and neck.  For a second he couldn’t breathe, the breath pounded out of his lungs.  The impact was a solid hammer blow on his back that tried to drive him down.   

And then it was gone, and Owen was gasping with shock. 

StripeSide yanked herself backwards, out of his grip. 

He opened his eyes and realized that they were full of water.  He was wet from head to foot, splattered with warm greasy water.  He gasped for breath at the temperature shock.

StripeSide was standing before him, head turned up to the sky.  She screamed up at the departing chopper.  Her hide was shining wet. 

“How …?” Owen blurted, staring at it through watery eyes.  He could hear the rotors going away, but the bird had no lights.  It was soaring away, sweeping away in  a wide loop.   “Who's flying it?” 

“It’s working!” the bartender screamed.  “Look!  Look!” 

He was dancing around, arms raised.  The steam from the hot ground made him look fantastical; a Delphic oracle, a vision in the conflagration.  “It’s working!  It’s working!” 

Owen looked. 

The fall of water had extinguished the fires around them instantly, smashed them into submission.  Where flames had been seconds ago was now steam and smoke.  He could smell water on hot earth – see streams of water pouring off the eaves. 

Whoever was up there had dropped 350 gallons of water in one go, and he’d dropped it all on the houses.  He hadn’t dropped it into the mouth of the firestorm, but in its path.  He wasn’t trying to kill the monster, but starve it.  

"Come on!" Owen shouted at him.  "We have to get at the embers before they flare up again!” 

The embers would catch again – the water would evaporate in minutes in this heat – but they could fight it.  The embers were still flying – but one of the legs of the fire triangle had been knocked out!  With the helicopter, they could stop the fire from taking hold! 

“Come on!”   Owen flung himself at the wet smoking thatch, dragging it down and stamping on it with his boots. 

And a moment later, StripeSide was right at his side.   She screamed in his ear, and he saw her lash out with one long talon, pointing up at the thatch. 

Without even needing her to sign, he knew what she was saying. 

He reached up, and gouged with the Pulaski.  He yanked out the smoking thatch.  She dragged at it with her talons, ripping it apart, shredding it across the ground, and he joined her and stamped on the smouldering embers. 

StripeSide screamed shrilly.  She shrieked her battle-cry, willing her troops to fight at her side, leading raptors and humans together in a fight to save them all.  Owen saw raptors and humans, all along the line, beating at the flames, shouting and screaming and pounding with Pulaskis and axes and bare talons. 

“We can do this!” Owen roared. 

All along the line, humans and dinosaurs were shouting and screaming.  All along the line, they were flinging themselves back into battle, shoulder to shoulder, fighting together.  A new energy had been injected into them all, instantly.

This fight could be won!  This place could be defended!  Working together they were going to save the town! 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a fire-fighter, and I know nothing about flying a helicopter. The one thing I do know for sure is that I've written flying a helicopter with a Bambi bucket as a whole lot easier for Damien Scott than it really is. This whole fic is basically one long tribute to the pilots I've seen flying hour after hour, day after day, doing their thing in the smoke so people's houses don't burn down. Look them up on YouTube; they rock.


	13. First Contact

Owen woke up with hot breath spilling over his face, and his eyes against jagged teeth. 

He jerked with surprise, and his forehead bumped against the jaw hovering inches from his face.  “Blue!” he blurted, and was surprised by how raspy his voice was. 

StripeSide must have been sniffing at his breath as he slept.  Her face went away.  He could see her talons under her, and she brought them forward and signed, <Apologies, I meant not to startle you.> 

“Ump,” Owen said, confused.  He was lying on the floor against the wall, and someone had thrown a blanket over him.  He was still fully clothed, boots and all. 

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and signed back, <It is nothing.>  He was still sleepy, and his fingers moved slowly.  <I fell asleep.> 

She backed away from him, but she kept her head low, hovering over him.  <I would leave you undisturbed, but there is something you should see, something about which I desire your advice.> 

Owen climbed to his feet, holding against the wall for support.  His back hurt, his neck hurt.  His eyes and throat were dry, and as he rubbed his face he realized he was still covered in soot.  He wanted to wash, and change his smoky clothes, and brush his teeth, and shave off a beard that suddenly felt dirty. 

It was daylight; afternoon, he guessed.  Sunlight was streaming in through the windows; almost horizontal sunbeams, tainted brown with smoke.  He realized that could not hear the Apocalypse Now soundtrack of Scott’s helicopter going around and around in circles. 

He followed StripeSide out of Virgilio’s office.  

“Ha-h’m!”  He tried to dislodge the thick scratchiness in his throat.  He followed StripeSide down a corridor.  She stopped at a door and pushed it open with her snout, and Owen followed her inside. 

Maggie was there, with Alan Grant.  “Owen,” she said, “You gotta see this!” 

There was a big old CRT television standing on the desk between them, wire trailing the wrong way.  The aerial was pointing hopefully toward the window.   Grant moved aside so that Owen could see the screen.  “We showed it to StripeSide, and she decided she needed to show you.” 

Owen walked over, and tried to clear his throat again.  “Hrm-hrm!”  and then, “Ha-ha-ha-ha-h’m!”  His eyes, his throat and the inside of his nose burned, as if his sinuses had been seared by smoke. 

“Here!” Maggie said.  She passed him a bottle of water – Perrier refilled from the river, because it was cloudy. 

Owen raised it and tipped it down his throat.  He walked over and stood in front of the screen.  He put his thumb through his belt-loops, and narrowed his eyes at the screen.  “You woke me up to watch TV?” 

“Look,” Grant said.   

The screen flickered and settled on rough news-camera footage.  The picture was of a smoky street, with a sharp voice speaking quickly in Spanish over it. 

He felt his eyes widen.  “Oh, God, that’s us,” he said. 

Maggie picked up the remote control, and changed the channel.   

“And CNN,” she said. 

“That’s the river!” Owen said. 

The video screen zoomed in on raptors on the river bank – it was the bucket chain of yesterday.  He saw YellowSnake dash to the river, dunk the bucket in, whirl and dash back even as JadeTapir sprinted behind her with his own bucket.  The picture changed to rows of men digging and chopping at the ground with Pulaskis – and with raptors doing the same with their talons, scraps of fabric duct-taped to their snouts. 

StripeSide made a pleased trill, cocking her head like a bird.

“That’s Roy’s footage,” Maggie said, pointing with the remote.  Owen recognised Maggie’s own voice speaking out of the TV. 

Owen stepped back, and sat down heavily in the chair facing the desk, holding the Perrier bottle like a talisman.  

Images of raptors and humans working together were flashing in front of him.  Dinosaurs in close-up; dinosaurs running; dinosaurs pointing and gesturing; dinosaurs following instructions.  He recognised some of the raptors; BentTail and SlidingRocks carrying buckets and passing them to the human bucket chain; JaguarPaw and MoonRain digging out a firebreak between humans with Pulaskis; SnailEater and Ian Malcolm helping a smoke-dazed fire-fighter into the clinic.

“It’s playing on all the news channels,” Maggie said.  “CNN, Al-Jazeera, the Beeb… the eyes of the world.” 

“My God,” he said.  “Where the hell did it all come from?” 

“Reuters,” she said.

“Reuters?” he echoed. 

She explained.  “Reuters buys in raw footage from around the world, and distributes it to any network that wants to show it.  The networks buy from Reuters, and edit it for their own talking heads.”

“Yes, but how did they get it so fast?”

“From me, of course!”  she said.   “The fire-fighters have their own satellite dish, so I borrowed it and started sending everything Roy’s got.  Reuters pushed it straight away.  We broke on BBC last night at 5:30, local time.  We started trending on Twitter a few minutes after that.”

“Twitter!” Owen said.  He remembered Claire Dearing in the days after the Jurassic World disaster.  She’d driven herself crazy reading Twitter, until Jurassic World’s PR people told her to stop for her sanity’s sake. 

 “This is going out to the whole world, Owen!”  Maggie said.  “This is being watched in London – New York – Russia – the East!  This is the big break-out we’ve been waiting for – and what a break-out!”

“Raptors and humans working together to save a town from a forest fire,” Grant said. 

“We couldn’t have put a better spin on this story if we sat down with Chickenhawk PR and wrote out a six-month campaign!” Maggie said, exultantly.   

“La Leona was trying to destroy the raptors,” Owen said, still staring at the screen.  “Instead, she _saved_ them.” 

The video had stopped on a photograph of StripeSide. 

StripeSide was leaning over the map table, framed by SnailEater and Guerrero.  The shutter had caught her with her head raised, staring back at the camera.  Her head was at the centre of the frame, her bright blue neck raised proudly.  Her gaze was focused on the photographer, her amber eyes glittering with liquid intelligence.  

StripeSide trilled next to him.  <You like it,> she declared. 

<I like it very much,> he agreed. 

<Then I like it too,> she said.  <You are my guide in this matter.> 

<It is a beautiful picture.> 

It was a _great_ photograph, he realized.  That picture of her was going out all over the world, right now.  That picture was making history.  She looked beautiful, and the whole world was seeing her as _he_ saw her – _his_ powerful, beautiful, burning Blue. 

She cocked her head at the screen, at her own image, and trilled, pleased with herself.  <Good. I like it too.> 

 “The secret is out,” Alan Grant said.    “The _whole world_ has seen what she can do.  She reads maps!  She writes instructions!  She gives orders to fire-fighters!  Arguing about their intelligence has become moot.  _No-one_ can look at _that,”_ he gestured toward the TV, “and still argue that raptors are not as intelligent as humans.”

“Do you understand how your life is going to change?” Maggie said, lowering the remote.  She looked at him, suddenly serious.  “Everyone is going to want a piece of you – and her.” 

“Me?” Owen said.  “I’m just a Navy guy with a training clicker.”   

“No, you’re not. You’re the queen raptor’s partner,” Grant said. 

“And you speak English.  _And_ you’re a looker,” Maggie said.  “The media is going to swarm all over you.  I’d advise you to find yourself a brand-manager, someone like Chickenhawk PR.  Your life is never going to be the same, after today.  I hope you’re ready.” 

Owen shook his head.  She had no idea.  His whole life had changed for good in the aftermath of the Jurassic World disaster.  Everything that had happened since had been an echo of that one day. 

“My life was turned upside down the first time I saw a raptor pick up a plank and try to write on it,”  he said.  “Bring it on.  I’m ready.” 

Owen and StripeSide went outside, into a late afternoon sunshine.  They paused outside the town hall, looking around. 

San Judas Tadeo looked like a war zone.  The sky was still hazy with smoke, casting a raw orange palette over the light.   The dirt and walls were dappled with soot that had drifted from the sky.  The streets were strewn with junk and abandoned furniture.  The hilltop square looked naked without the shady trees that had stood there. 

The town looked like a battlefield, because a battle had been fought there. 

Damien Scott had flown for hours, around, and around, and around, doing circuits from the river to the fire-line.  The helicopter had roared overhead, over and over, hour after hour.  He must have dropped thousands of tons.  The falling water had damped  the trees, soaked the houses, prevented the flames from catching. 

But even with the helicopter, the fire had only been defeated after long exhausting hours with Pulaskis and shovels, with human hands and raptor talons, with sheer stubborn rage.  The battle had taken all the night, and most of the day, but it had been won. 

San Judas Tadeo looked like a war zone, but it had been saved.   

There were exhausted people moving slowly around him – both human and raptor.  Owen didn’t think he’d ever seen an exhausted velociraptor – to him, they’d always seemed tireless – but _these_ were exhausted, heads and tails drooping.  Everyone seemed to be moving slowly, dragging themselves in silence like weary ghosts in a post-apocalyptic disaster. 

He passed through the streets, heading downhill.  Owen passed a few houses that had been overtaken by the falling cinders.  Blackened timbers stood up from the ashes.   He went down to the east of the town, and walked along the ring road. 

On one side of him, the landscape was black, and still sifting smoke.  On the other hand, the land was green.  This line was the front of a desperately-fought battle.  The marks of courage could be read in that sharp line between black and green.  Right here, just last night, an ancient enemy had been fought, and defeated.  

But the raptors were safe, he told himself.  They were safe.  His beautiful StripeSide was safe, and the secret was out.  The whole world knew now that there were raptors in the rainforest – and that they were intelligent.   

Owen sat down on a fallen tree.  Bits of charcoal broke off against his jeans as he sat down, but he didn’t care.  He was tired, and raw, and he hurt all over, but this too would pass.  StripeSide was safe. 

StripeSide was moving restlessly, the rough weave of her hide flexing as she stalked around him.  For now they were alone, and he watched her.  He would have to confess to her soon that he had let Nyiragongo carry him to the Lioness’s villa last night, but he sensed that now was not the time. 

 He heard a aeroplane flying overhead.  He looked up and saw a white aircraft, sun glancing off its wings.  It was coming in low, approaching the airstrip. 

<That is the second this morning,> StripeSide signed, her long head and neck turned upward to stare at the passing plane.  <People are coming in to see this place.>

<Our secret is out, now,> he signed. 

<LoudVoice wrote to me that other people can see that picture.  That what is on that screen is being seen by many people in many places, all over the world.> 

<Yes,> he agreed.  <The whole world has seen you.>

<And you,> she said. 

<And me, too,> Owen agreed. 

< Everything is going to change.   We will never be alone and hidden in the forest again, as we are right now,> she said. 

This was the last day he would be _just_ Owen Grady, he realized, and she knew it, and she knew what it meant for him. 

<We planned for this,> he signed.  <The world is ready for the Real People, and the Real People are ready for the world.> 

<And you?  Are you ready?>

<I am ready,> he agreed. 

StripeSide hissed.  She sprang around in a half-circle, and back to face him.  <I ask too much of you,> she signed.  <This, I know.  Too much I ask, and you give, and give, and give.  This is my path, not yours.  For me, you do this, you change your whole life, and it is too much to ask.>

<I chose to come here,> he signed, surprised.  <I have no regrets.>

<I ask too much of you,> she signed.  < Because there is no going back now.  Nothing will ever be the same.  If I ask too much of you, tell me, and I will shield you!  Never, never, would I have you regret this day!  Never would I have you regret _me! >_

 He sighed deeply.  “Blue,” he said aloud, and raised both hands to her, asking for her caress. 

She stepped over to him and leaned down to him.  He cupped his hands under her snout. 

There was no need to speak.  He leaned his face against her snout, feeling her breath on his face, knowing that she could feel the prickle of his beard.  She pressed her snout against him, and he closed his eyes, savouring the closeness. 

“Atta girl,” he crooned, aware that she would recognise only his tone. 

He felt his breath break from him in a deep sigh.  The secret was out now.  The future they’d worked for was happening.  Whatever needed to be done, he would do it, and gladly.  His path was laid out, his decisions were made.  He had no regrets, only a future. 

He let go of her snout, and she stepped back. 

<Nothing will ever be the same,> he signed.  <Truth, this.  And it will be difficult.  But I am not alone.  We are together!  You are mine, and I am yours.  That is all that matters.  No matter what happens now, no matter where we go, or what we do, that will not change.  Together, we can face any enemy.  Together, you and I will change the whole world.  We have already started.  Now we have to finish it.>

<Together,> she agreed.  She breathed hot breath over his face, blinking her eyes at him.

He found himself smiling up into her eyes.  “Atta-girl,” he said. 

“Owen!”  a voice interrupted. 

StripeSide jumped, head whipping up.  She’d been as absorbed in their intimate conversation as he was.  She snarled, eyes narrowing. 

“Owen!”  It was little Cristian, trotting quickly up the path toward him. 

Owen got up off the burned tree.  “Cristian?  What’s the hurry?” 

“There are people at the airport, and they say you must come, now, quickly, and her too!”

“People?” 

“Important people!”  Cristian was out of breath.  “Government people!  My father is there, and there’s a lady, and some Americans, and they want to meet StripeSide.”

<We need to go to the flying strip,> Owen explained.  <There are humans there from the big city who want to meet you.>

She rocked back onto her hocks, dropping her jaw with a snarl.  <Just as we were discussing!> 

<Are you ready?>

<I _hatched_ ready! > she declared.  <Come!  We go, now!>  She whirled around, tail whipping, and screamed at the top of her voice. 

The little airstrip lay on the other side of the town from the fire, which had not reached this far.  That was a good thing, because the underground fuel tanks would have gone _ka-blooey_ last night if that heat had got here.  The trees still stood, green and alive.  The path was wide enough to drive a four-by-four truck, and Owen made good time. 

The trees ended, and they emerged into the sunshine again. 

The plane that had just landed had taxied up to the front of the little control tower.  It stood silently, propellers stopped.  The people had to be inside the reception room inside the control shack – built by Miguel Gomez for his guests at the same time that he’d tarred the strip, and laid in the fuel tanks. 

Owen turned toward the control tower, just as a woman walked around the corner toward him.  

It was Claire Dearing. 

He recognised the flame of her hair first.  She wore a mauve dress, knee-length, and her hips and thighs were as flawless as flower petals.  She turned around, pinning her hair back with her fingers and looking around her.  She was searching for someone. 

He stopped dead, struck by the resemblance to that afternoon at Jurassic World, when she had jumped up onto a fallen cart and stood like a commanding general among her men.

She turned in his direction, and her eyes widened, and she cried out, “Owen!” 

He realized he’d been gawking at her with his mouth open.  He snapped his mouth shut, and walked forward to meet her. 

“Claire!” he said, and paused a decorous distance.  “What are you d – ?” 

She didn’t stop at a decorous distance.  She strode toward him, clamped a hand on the front of his filthy shirt.  A yank pulled him forward, and her mouth was pressed on his. 

He opened his mouth in surprise, and then pure instinct took over.  He closed his arms around her and leaned down into the kiss.  Her lips tasted like ice-cream, sweet, and her body was soft.  He felt her hand reach around to his neck, tugging herself up and into his kiss.

She was really here, kissing him.  His body responded almost instantly.  He had to restrain himself from grinding against her, and he was sure she could feel his arousal. 

She broke the kiss first.  She lowered away from him, still holding onto his shoulders, and he realized she had been standing on her toes.  She smiled up into his face. 

“I’ve been waiting a year for _that,”_ she said, and her voice was just as he remembered. 

In front of her delicate beauty, he felt as huge and crude as a lumberjack.  “Was it worth it?” he grinned down at her. 

“Mmm, it was all right.  For the _first_ item on the itinerary,” she said.  She half-smiled, and ducked her smile away in that impish way that delighted him. 

There was a sharp trill behind Owen.  She looked around his shoulder, and he saw the surprise cross her face.  Her fingers tightened on his shoulders.  “Oh, my God.  Is that Blue?” 

He turned.  StripeSide was bustling up to see what he was doing.  She paused, her head cocked on one side.  She hiss-snapped at Claire, and he felt Claire jump through his hand on her hip. 

“Blue!” he warned. 

StripeSide turned her head, weighing up her human’s mate. 

<Your mate from the Island of Clouds!> she signed, still staring at Claire.  <Now you have chosen a fine and fitting mate!  Sharp talons.  And fierce, too!  Yes, this one is just right.  Of this one, I approve!> 

“That’s Raptor Sign!”  Claire said, staring back at StripeSide. 

“Yeah, that’s Raptor sign,” Owen agreed. 

“What’s she saying?”  Claire asked. 

“She thinks we’re a cute couple.”

“Seriously, Owen, what _is_ she saying?” 

“That _is_ what she’s saying!” Owen insisted. 

Claire didn’t believe him, but she didn’t argue.  She turned to face StripeSide.  “Hey, Blue.  I’m glad to see you looking so well.” 

StripeSide blinked her golden eyes, her snout moving in and out with each quick breath.  She hiss-snapped at Claire.  The jolt of her teeth closing made a ripple run all the way down her long tail.  

<She addresses me directly,>  she signed.  <And she looks in my eyes.  She is polite.  Yes, this one I like.  We are going to get along very well, of that I am sure.>

Owen freed his hands from Claire’s embrace to sign.  <She says she remembers you,> Owen signed.

<Of course she does.  I am very memorable.> 

Claire had no idea what StripeSide was saying, but Owen didn’t think she’d disagree.  She looked up at Owen. 

“Come on,” she said, and tilted her head toward the control room.  “We’ve got to go.  There are a few people in there who have flown rather a long way to meet you.”

“I should probably change my shirt,” he suggested,  “before I go shake my ta-ta in front of a bunch of politicians.” 

She grinned at him.  “You need to change a lot of things, Owen.  But there’s no time for that now.” 

She hadn’t relinquished his hand, and she towed him around to the front of the control tower.  StripeSide stalked on his other side, keeping pace.  Owen had the strong sensation that he was bracketed by the two most impressive ladies he’d ever met. 

He heard the sound of Ian Malcolm’s voice, raised in a lecturing tone, even before he’d reached the door. 

How long had Malcolm been haranguing them, Owen wondered.  Had he got around to the Drake Equation yet?  He wondered if he should stop Malcolm before he went full mathematician on his audience, and drove them away. 

Claire glanced at Owen, eyebrows raised as if checking his readiness, and then she opened the door and stepped inside. 

Owen walked in through the door after her, meeting the gaze of the people there.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “I would like to introduce Mr Owen Grady, former employee of Jurassic World.  And this is StripeSide, the queen raptor…” 

He’d been inside the reception room of the control tower only once, when he’d first poked around and met Flavio.  It was airy, and tiled in cool cream, and decorated with potted plants and comfortable armchairs.  It was air-conditioned, and it had a mini-bar on the one side.    

Ian Malcolm was leaning on the mini-bar.  Virgilio Guerrero was there, and the fire captain Rubio. 

The room was crowded with strangers too, Owen saw.  He saw a young _gringo,_ handsome with ash-blond hair.  One elderly man he recognised as Antonio Pacheco, the Department’s Governor.  The men and women around Pacheco looked like either aides or body-guards. 

They were all staring at Owen, and he had a sudden dizzying moment as he realized he didn’t know what to say. 

Guerrero rescued him.  “Owen, come in!  Is StripeSide behind you?” 

Owen turned.  “Yeah, she’s right here,” he said, and signed, <Come inside,> through the open door.  He stepped backwards away from the door, giving her room to enter. 

A second later, StripeSide slid in through the door, all muscled spine and whip tail. 

She pulled up at the sight of all the strangers, talons flexing.  She turned her head from side to side, surveying the humans around her, and her eyes were yellow and reptilian and alien. 

Owen could see the reaction in the faces of the people in the room.  For a second he could see her through their eyes…    _There was a velociraptor in the room!_   She was large, and lethal, and carnivorous – the monster of the stories, and she was in the room, and looking at them!   

The bodyguards had twitched in unison. 

“And that right there is why I told you to take off your guns and put ‘em away,” Ian Malcolm drawled, without taking his elbow off the mini-bar. 

“Er, Uncle Ian…?” the blond man said, casting a nervous glance sideways at Malcolm. 

“Ah, yeah, we’re all right.”  Malcolm looked at Owen and smiled.  “This, ah, this fine young lady is StripeSide.  The queen raptor.  The Alpha of Alphas.  She’s the one I was just telling you about…” 

Nobody seemed to be listening.  Nobody had eyes for anyone but StripeSide. 

She hissed, lowering herself slightly.  She bared all her teeth, and her hooked talons clutched at the air wordlessly.

“Take it easy,” Owen said, holding out one hand soothingly.  “We’re all friends here.”

 _“That_ doesn’t look very friendly…”  the blond young man said. 

“She’s the one from the TV?” Governor Pacheco said, staring at StripeSide, who stared back. 

“Yes, this is StripeSide,” Owen said. 

StripeSide hissed, and the body-guards twitched again.  Owen could see the disaster poised to happen all over again.  He could see the misunderstanding brewing, and someone was going to shout an order to open fire, and it would be Jurassic World all over again…   

There was a loud _Bonk!_   in the doorway behind Owen.   Flavio was bustling in through the door, awkwardly holding the white-board from the air-traffic-control office between his fingers.  _Bonk_ , _bonk, thump!_   “I’ve got it,” he said,  “Very good, and I have brought pens, too…” 

 He struggled to shift the board in lengthwise, banging the top corner against the door.  He shuffled sideways, and bumped against StripeSide, who snaked away out of his reach.  He lowered the white-board to the ground, and leaned it against a sofa. 

“Now we can talk all proper, yes?”  He looked around, grinning, and rubbing his hands together.  “Very good, yes?” 

Nothing could have defused the tension faster than Flavio blundering in with a large piece of office equipment.  Malcolm coughed, and covered his laugh with one hand. 

Pacheco stepped forward.  _“Hola,”_ he said to StripeSide, speaking slowly and clearly.  “My – name – is – Antonio – Pacheco – and – I – am – the – Governor.” 

“Uh, that’s not going to work,” Owen said.  “Velociraptors are basically deaf.  She can’t hear you.” 

StripeSide had guessed that this man was trying to talk to her.  She swung her head to look at the white-board, and the set of pens that Flavio had put down next to them.  Owen stepped out of her way as she moved over to the board and leaned down.  She picked up one delicately between two curled talons and pulled off the cap with her teeth. 

MY NAME IS STRIPESIDE, she wrote. 

“That… That…” Pacheco spluttered, staring at her writing.  “That’s impressive.  That’s incredible!  I heard all the rumours about raptors in the rainforest, but now I’m here… and _that_ … and _her_ …  and … that’s _incredible!”_  

“It’s real, all right!” Rubio agreed.  “I’ve been seeing it all day, and it’s still amazing!” 

The young man stepped forward, looking down at the board.  He was tense, a coat of sweat on his face, but he moved firmly.  He picked up another pen and stooped to write. 

MY NAME IS TIM MURPHY, he wrote.  MY GRANDFATHER MADE ALL THE DINOSAURS. 

StripeSide cocked her head.  <His grandfather was WhiteCoatSorcerer?> she signed.   

<No, his grandfather was WhiteHairOldMan,> Owen signed. 

It had taken him a moment to remember why he knew the name ‘Tim Murphy’ from.  This was Hammond’s grandson – another person who had been on Isla Nublar twenty years ago.  Hammond had sold off most of InGen to Masrani – most of it but not all.  Hammond’s heirs still kept an interest in the company.  Had Claire called Murphy  here, or Malcolm?

“And that,” Malcolm said, “is Raptor Sign.  The first people to meet the raptors as equals came up with it to communicate with them.  Because we can’t hear the raptors’ language, and they can’t hear us.” 

Owen glanced at Claire but she was keeping back, watching. 

MY COMPANY OWNS ALL THE DINOSAURS, Murphy wrote, and looked up to see StripeSide’s reaction. 

StripeSide hissed, and tapped her killing claws.

NO HUMAN OWNS US!   She wrote in bigger capitals than usual.  The pen squeaked on the board with her agitation. 

WE ARE VELOCIRAPTORS!  WE ARE PEOPLE.  ALL OF US WERE PEOPLE FROM THE DAY WE HATCHED.  

Owen had seen her saying that many times, but this was the first time Murphy had seen it. 

YOU ARE THE LAST HEIRS OF MY GRANDFATHER, he wrote.  YOU ARE PEOPLE OF MY PEOPLE. 

 StripeSide looked around.  She backed away from the board, tail snaking, her pen still clenched between her talons.

“Owen?”  Tim Murphy asked. 

“It’s okay, she’s just doing what they do,” Owen said.  “Raptors move around all the time.  They’re always hyper.  Just wait.” 

He was right.  StripeSide stamped her feet, staring at the humans around her.  She stared each on in the eyes, in the style of velociraptor good manners.  After she’d stared at them for a long time, she stepped forward again.

The pen squeaked as she wrote.

WE DESIRE TO BE FRIENDS.  WE ARE HERE BECAUSE YOU BROUGHT US BACK FROM EXTINCTION.  WE DESIRE TO BE FRIENDS BECAUSE WE ARE GRATEFUL AND WE LIKE YOU AND LIFE WITH YOU IS MORE INTERESTING THAN LIFE APART. 

WE ARE DINOSAURS, AND YOU ARE MAMMALS, AND WE ARE BOTH PEOPLE.  WE ARE DIFFERENT, BUT TOGETHER WE CAN BE ONE WORLD. 

She turned her head around and looked around.  <See what they say to that,>  she signed to Owen, the only person in the room who could understand Raptor Sign. 

“What does she _mean?”_ Pacheco asked.  “One world?” 

“She has a dream,” Owen said. 

All eyes turned to him.  “Go on, Owen,” Guerrero said. 

“The raptors know they were made in a laboratory.  And they know they’re descended from extinct animals.  But here’s the thing, you see.  They like us.  They’re intelligent, and we’re intelligent, and they like spending time with us.  They want to be friends because life with us is – well, interesting.  And StripeSide has a dream that we can live with them as equals.  That we can make a whole new life together. Our two species belong together.  Raptors in towns.  Raptors in cities.  Raptors in schools and shopping malls.  Raptors all over the world, living with us, alongside us, sharing this world.” 

“Do you think that’s possible?” 

“I _know_ it’s possible, Governor,” Owen said.  “I’ve lived with them.  I’ve slept and eaten with them, I’ve watched them raise their hatchlings, I’ve watched them around our kids.  I trust them with my life.” 

“You should offer her a treaty,” Malcolm said.  “The first treaty with an alien species.”

“A treaty?”  Pacheco echoed. 

 _“A-h’m!”_ one of the Governor’s aides cleared his throat.  “The Governor doesn’t have the authority to offer her a treaty.”     

“But…”

“He is the Governor of _one_ Department.  We can’t negotiate a formal treaty with an alien species!  It wouldn’t have legal force!”     

“No, but you could sign a Mutual Aid Agreement,” Rubio said.  “Surely Bogota can ratify it later?  Surely nobody can look at _her_ and say it was a bad decision.”

“Does the Fire Service need to ask the government’s permission to sign a mutual assistance agreement?”  Guerrero asked. 

“Not as far as I know,” Rubio said. 

“Then we can call it the Inter-Species Mutual Aid Agreement,” Guerrero said.  “Governor?” 

“You don’t have the authority, sir,” the aide said to the Governor. 

“You’re right,” Pacheco said.  “I _don’t_ have the authority.  I didn’t come here to sign a treaty with… another species.”

“We’ll have to inform the President,” the aide said.  “And he’ll have to put it to Congress, and then to the United Nations…” 

“I don’t have the authority,”  Pacheco said, staring at StripeSide.   “I don’t have the legal right.  But … there is not precedent for this.  This is _nothing_ like anyone has seen before.  And I can’t let history slip past.”

“Sir!” the aide protested. 

“If it’s not legal, then it’s not legal,” Pacheco said, still staring at StripeSide.  “I’ll deal with the consequences.  Nobody _ever_ changes the world without a fight.” 

Pacheco knelt down in front of the board, and picked up his own pen. 

He copied StripeSide’s use of capital letters.  MY NAME IS ANTONIO PACHECO AND I AM THE GOVERNOR OF CAQUETA DEPARTMENT.  I WANT TO OFFER YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE A TREATY OF FRIENDSHIP.

StripeSide stared at the white-board, and then she cocked her head and stared at it at another angle.  Eventually, she turned her head and stared at Owen. 

<What is this word?> StripeSide signed. 

Owen realized he was holding his breath. 

<This means you both write your names on an agreement of friendship, on behalf of your people and his people,> he asked.  <An agreement that his people recognise your people, and you agree to be friends.> 

<And what is the purpose?> 

<It is a legal document,>  Owen explained. <That human tribes write when they agree with each other.>

<It is a human thing?>  she asked, <And not an animal thing?>

<It is a thing of great power! This is an excellent thing!  I will explain later!  Trust me!> 

<Yes.  This I will do!> 

StripeSide hissed, and wrote on the board.  A TREATY AS EQUALS. 

WE DESIRE TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU. 

WE DESIRE TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU TOO, AND ON THIS I WILL WRITE MY NAME. 

 

* * *

And so it was that the first draft of the Inter Species Disaster Mutual Aid Agreement, the first treaty ever signed between humanity and an alien species,  was signed on a white-board in a tiny rural town in the middle of the Amazon rainforest...

 


	14. Epilogue

#### January, 2019.

#### London. 

But that was _then_ , and this was _now,_ StripeSide thought. The great fire was a long time ago now.  She had travelled a long way from the rainforest to this cold grey human city. 

The agreement signed that day had been only the first of many.  First, the humans in the great city had wanted to see her, and sign their own agreement.  And then others, and others.  She had met many humans, talking to them through FirstHuman, or through the use of writing.  So much talking! So much negotiating! So many humans! Until eventually, she had travelled to this continent to meet the leaders of all the human tribes, and signed an agreement with all humans, everywhere.  So much work, such a long time, but she could still look back at that day, so long ago, and remember that day as the moment that the world of the Real People had changed.

A human called to her, and beckoned with her arm to the open door, and StripeSide stepped away from FirstHuman and PerkyPurpleHuman. Her transport was waiting, backed up against the wall of this building.

StripeSide leaped straight from the doorway into the machine, so that she did not have to touch the horrible icy cement.  The weather on this rainy island was not nice at all; for the first time in her life she regretted her lack of feathers. She landed inside the machine with a crash, catching her balance.  The suspension rocked under her. 

There was a deep rasping hiss, and a flash of bloodheat in the dark.  WingWatch was in the machine, curled up in the shadows.  She snarled as she thrust herself to her feet. 

“Sister!” StripeSide said, surprised that her sister had come to meet her. 

“I greet you, StripeSide,” WingWatch said, but her gaze slid past her sister, and onto the person who mattered most to her.  Her bloodheat flashed her delight.   “And here is my human!  SingsAlone! Come here, you wonderful creature!  Let me snuggle you!  Oh, you smell so good!” 

SingsAlone was clambering into the machine, and they were throwing themselves at each other.  He clamped his arms around her neck, and they burbled at each other in their respective languages like a pair of birds. 

Ridiculous, StripeSide thought, affectionately.  Her sister had no sense of saurian dignity!  She was quite glad _her_ human was not prone to such undignified displays! 

FirstHuman had finished saying his final goodbyes to PerkyPurpleHuman.   He  climbed up into the van, and greeted ShinySmoothHead with a friendly clap on his shoulder.  They sang happily to each other, and FirstHuman hauled the door of the machine down behind him. 

“It went well?” WingWatch asked, from where she was being affectionately strangled by her human.  WingWatch’s eyes were half-closed with delight.

“It went very well!” StripeSide said.  “Much laughter – much!  He was very anxious at first, but he enjoyed himself after he relaxed a bit.  PerkyPurpleHuman is very good at what he does, I think.” 

She watched FirstHuman affectionately.  He was singing to ShinySmoothHead and SingsAlone, his friends, and she could see the cheerful emotion in his bloodheat.  She was lucky that her bond-mate and her sister’s bond-mate liked and trusted each other, and found pleasure in each other’s company.

The big grumble-and-roll’s engine turned over, and a moment later they began to move.  This compartment had been covered with thick pads of foam, so that the Real People could ride in it without getting hurt falling over.  There were windows set along the sides, with darkened glass, so that the Real People could see out without being seen.  This vehicle was theirs as long as they were on this continent; a loan from the human Alpha of Alphas of this island. 

StripeSide wobbled as the machine swung on its suspension.  WingWatch didn’t bother standing.  She just dropped to her belly on the soft spongy floor. SingsAlone immediately sat down against her side, leaning against her.

There was a deep roar outside, as BridgeOfStone and SmokeyOne swung their riding-machines into place behind this one.  They were on their way. 

 _Mrrrp!_   

StripeSide snapped to attention, her predatory instincts instantly alert.  There was a pile of soft blankets in the corner of the machine.  She hadn’t noticed the pile of blankets before, but now a small head was poking out, blinking.  How had she not noticed how strong the smell of Hatchling LoveMe was in this machine? Pleasure flooded through her bloodheat. “Oh, my babies!” StripeSide said.  “Hello, my babies, aren’t you wonderful!” 

A moment later there was a shrill squeal, and all four hatchlings were awake, and tumbling to get out of the blankets to their mother. 

She planted her forehands on the floor, and stooped low to meet them.  They were leaping and squeaking around her, all shouting at once.  Their voices clashed, so that they could not be understood.  She looked down into their wide mouths, gaping to be fed. 

"Don't believe them," WingWatch said, from her place on the floor as SingsAlone’s pillow. "They're not hungry, I just fed them before we came here."

“Hello, my babies! And how did you all get here?” StripeSide asked, as they leaped up at her face and knocked their faces against her jaws.   

“They wanted their mother,”  said WingWatch.  “Their sire wanted to come too, but there isn’t enough room for both of us, and _I_ wanted to see SingsAlone, and _that_ was a fight that _I_ won.” 

“Hello, my babies!  Yes, I missed you too!”  StripeSide said. 

There were only four of them, compared with WingWatch’s nine – but _hers_ were much bigger, and it was quite obvious to StripeSide that laying four big eggs was a greater accomplishment than nine little ones. Probably wise not to say that to WingWatch’s face, but oh, it was quite true! _Her_ babies were _much_ better.

They were much too small still for names of their own, but SingsAlone insisted on calling them Orange, Purple, Red and LittleBlue, and collectively The Turtles. FirstHuman had complained that it was not a dignified name for dinosaurs, but StripeSide didn’t mind; they would pick their own true names when they were old enough.  Tonight was the first time they had ever been out in the world without her, but StripeSide trusted her sister and ShinySmoothHead, to look after them.

The eldest, little Red, leaped up. StripeSide held still as she felt the baby’s tiny claws and talons digging into her hide, climbing up her side.  A moment later, Purple joined his sister.  Red and Purple climbed up to their mother’s back. 

FirstHuman was sitting on the floor, and he was swarmed by Orange and LittleBlue. LittleBlue stood up on his thigh, staring up into his face. “I found a money!” she announced, forgetting that FirstHuman, like all humans, was deaf, and she must speak HumanSign.  

“I saw it first!” Red cried out.  “I saw the money first, it’s mine!”  She sprang in a lightning-fast leap from StripeSide to FirstHuman.  She landed on his chest with a thump.  Red and LittleBlue both tried to climb up FirstHuman’s body to sit on his head. 

“I found a money,” Red said,  “And it was all in mud and buried, and I found it, and its mine.” 

“It’s mine!” LittleBlue complained, making it onto his shoulder and trying to crawl onto his head.  “You found it, but I dug it up!  It’s mine!” 

FirstHuman was starting to wince.  They were hurting him.  Their claws were no bigger than a cats’, and painless on dinosaur hide, but even tiny claws scratched human skin.  _OwOwOwDonnie enoughgetoff!_

They were really too big for that now, StripeSide decided.  “Get _off_ your father," she said. "He is not a tree!” 

She reached out her talons, and closed them around LittleBlue and Red before they could reach FirstHuman’s head.  She planted the hatchlings back into FirstHuman’s lap.  They landed in a pile in his lap, tangled with Orange.  Their brother Purple made a flying leap to join his siblings, and FirstHuman folded his arms around all four babies, scooping them against his body and laughing.  

That was good, StripeSide thought, watching.  It agreed with all propriety that humans should be buried in a pile of wriggling hatchlings. Humans should be covered in hatchlings as often as possible.  It was a truth as self-evident as the fact that eggs should always be laid in human beds.  She couldn’t sit on her human herself, but he had another generation of hatchlings to sit on him, and that was good.   

She lay down on the sponge floor, and sighed happily. 

She was the luckiest dinosaur who had ever lived, StripeSide thought to herself.  She had four fine strong babies, and the finest bond-mate in the world.  Her sister, her bond-mate and her babies were all here, and ShinySmoothHead, and SingsAlone.  This machine carried all the People StripeSide loved most in the world.

Yes, getting here had been a struggle, but look at how far she had come!  She had accomplished everything she had set out to do.   The world was full of dinosaurs now, thanks to her.  A pack was settling down in the ancient rainforest, on the continent where ShinySmoothHead had been born. Another pack was exploring the jungle islands in the sea, far to the east. SilverNose had gone to the Island of Clouds to teach the humans how to communicate with the great beasts. SnailEater was with TalksToNumbers at a great city of learning, and when he sent messages to her they were filled with stars and mathematics and great arguments with great thinkers.  And StripeSide’s four little hatchlings were the first Real People to be born on this continent in seventy-one million years! All over the world, Real People and humans were learning how to live together, and how to join their strengths to do new and exciting things.  

Her Great Project had succeeded.  Real People and humans were living together as equals.  The world that StripeSide had fought to build was becoming real.   

Electric lights began to strobe through the dark glass as the machine they rode inside  picked up speed.  In a few minutes they would reach the house that the human Alpha of Alphas had granted for StripeSide’s use. 

The hatchlings got tired of FirstHuman’s lap, now that he was talking to ShinySmoothHead, and not playing with them.  Red gamboled over to StripeSide, and began climbing her hide again.  LittleBlue stood up on his thigh and started telling him how she found a money, oblivious to the fact that he couldn’t hear her. 

“Well, I have some good news,” WingWatch said, from her position on the floor.  “Tomorrow the Letter-Q Gardens will be open, and the weather promises to be dry.  We _will_ be mobbed by picture-takers of course…” 

“The whole purpose of going out is to be mobbed by picture-takers,” StripeSide said. "We will look at the gardens and they will look at us."

“Also, the humans at the City of Dreaming Spires says that they can open their testing-house at night so that it is more comfortable for us.” 

“I look forward to that, too,” StripeSide said. 

“You look forward to everything, sister.” 

“Well, it will be very interesting!” she said.  “How did human languages break up into  so many thousands of songs?  Why don't they all understand each other? It seems downright careless of them to let their language run off in all directions like that!  How did that evolve? Real People all understand each other, why don’t _they?_   Bizarre creatures, humans.”

“I don’t really care about the _why,”_ WingWatch said.  “I just want to hear my human’s song translated into real speech – even if it _does_ have to be translated through a screen-toy. I want to hear what he really sounds like.”  She turned her head to examine her human. 

FirstHuman had been singing to the other two humans, but now he turned to look at StripeSide. 

<A question,> he signed.  <One that has puzzled me, which I have not been able to solve.> 

She pushed herself to a sitting position,  feeling her tail bump against the sides of the machine.  Red gripped tightly with her tiny talons.  <Ask and I will answer.> 

<Why did you choose this talking-stage?>

<We watched them together,> she signed.   

<We did,> he agreed.  <And you chose this one.  Others were greater thinkers.  Others have wider audiences.  Others have more power on the world’s stage, or more influence over human opinion.  But you selected this one from all of them.  Why this one?>

<I did not want great thinkers.>

<Why this one?  This puzzles me. I have tried to know why you chose this one, and I cannot.>

<I did not choose this one,> she signed.  <You chose this one.>

<Me?> he signed, and his hands fell into his lap with confusion.  <Clarify?>

<You selected this one for me,>  she told him, with a snap of her teeth.  Her tail slapped the side of the machine.  <I named it but you chose it.  I named the one at which you laughed the most.>

<Laughed?>  He repeated the sign, clearly puzzled.  

<I counted the times that you laughed, and on that I chose,> she explained.  

<You chose based on me laughing?> he asked. 

<Laughter is bonding behaviour, is it not?  Truth, this!  You laugh when you bond.  You laugh when you share happiness, when you form new packs, when you discover new friends.  Truth?>

He wagged his head up and down in the human gesture that meant agreement. 

She continued.  <It is not enough to prove that we are intelligent.  Your people have too many scary stories about monsters from other worlds who are intelligent.  We must prove that we are _more_ than intelligent.  We must prove that we are friendly.  We must prove that we have _feelings. >_

She was proud of her reasoning.  If dinosaurs were going to show mammals that they were cherished, then they had to learn the ways that _mammals_ showed that they cherished each other.  She had put a lot of effort into understanding human bonding behaviour.  She was proud of how intimately she understood them. 

<Laughter is personal,> FirstHuman signed.  < Not everyone laughs at the same things.> 

<Yes, but you laughed at it.  This talking stage is liked by you.  If this talking-stage is liked by you, it will be liked by other humans like you.>

<I am only one man,> he said.  <I am not a great man, or a wise man.  I am just a man.>

Ah, her foolish human!  He never believed that he was as wonderful as she knew he was.  She felt her bloodheat flash her affection.  He couldn’t see her bloodheat, so she rumbled at him reassuringly instead. 

<To me, you are _all_ men, > she signed, speaking slowly that he could not misunderstand.  <You are _my_ human.  _You_ are what matters to me.  Everything I see that is beautiful and special and wonderful in the human world is in you.  I would not trade a world of Old Ones seventy-one million years ago, for this one life with you. >

 He stared at her, as if he did not know what to say. 

<And besides all that, I like hearing you laugh.  It is a nice sound.> 

FirstHuman shook his head.  He raised his hands, put them down, and raised them again.  But before he could sign anything, his gaze went to StripeSide’s back.  His bloodheat flushed in surprise.  

“Oh, look at that!  _Look-look-look!”_ WingWatch said, delighted.  “Look at what she’s doing!”  Her eyes were focused on StripeSide’s back.  She raised one forehand and pointed a talon in the human style. 

StripeSide  twisted her head back to her own shoulder. 

Little Red was perching there, claws hooked into her hide.  As she watched, the hatchling’s hide was darkening from the white she had been since her shell, into a deep grey colour.  She was turning grey, and a blue and white stripe was forming from her face to her tail. 

“Look what _I’m_ doing!” she shrilled, puffing out her tiny chest and looking at herself.  “Look at me!  I’m clever!” 

StripeSide stared in amazement.  That was her colour, she realized.  Her hatchling was copying her mother.   “My goodness!” she said.  “Aren’t you clever?” 

“How did you do that?” one of her sisters squeaked. 

“I did it because I am clever!” Red replied. 

“I want to do that too!” Purple on FirstHuman’s lap decided.  He stood up and puffed out his little chest like his sister.  He squeezed his eyes shut and knotted his soft baby talons, as if he was straining to pass an egg. 

His hide went blue to match the fabric of FirstHuman’s clothes.  He opened one eye, and cocked it down at his own breast.  “There!  I did it too. I’m as clever as you!” 

“I did it first!”  Red leaped off StripeSide and bowled into her little brother.  A second later all four of them were wresting.

“Oh, wonderful,” WingWatch said sourly, watching. “Here we go again.  I remember how it was with their sire.   Standing on them, sitting on them, falling over them in the dark.  We should glue a flashing light to their heads now, before we lose them in the dark.”   Her tone was sour, but she couldn’t keep the amusement from her bloodheat. 

The three humans were looking at the hatchlings and singing back and forth.  

FirstHuman met her eyes, and he bared his teeth in the biggest smile she had ever seen.  <You see that?>  he signed. 

<They take after their sire already!> she replied.  <I hoped that they would, but now I know that they will!> 

<They take after you!> he signed.  <They are clever, just like you!>  

StripeSide sighed, letting her happiness flood through every vein in her body.  She knew that she was glowing with happiness and contentment, flushed with delight like a hatchling, but she did not care how juvenile she appeared.   

What dinosaur in all the world had ever been so happy as this? 

She looked from her babies to her bond-mate. 

She had come further than any dinosaur had travelled before.  She had fought, and plotted, and worked for years, and this moment was the fruit of all those struggles. 

She loved FirstHuman so much she felt that her blood would burst through her hide.  She loved her sister, she loved her babies, she loved SingsAlone and ShinySmoothHead.  Everyone she loved in the whole world was in the back of this engine with her right now. 

She had further to travel, she knew.  There was work still to be done.  There were many humans who did not accept the presence of Real People; many humans who still instinctively feared dinosaurs. There would be many more battles ahead of her.  There was more work to do – but she wouldn’t change a second of it.    

This world that she had made was the finest of all possible worlds, and StripeSide was sure that she was the happiest dinosaur that had ever lived. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Happy endings all round! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this long story, and given me so much encouragement! And also thanks to everyone who commented on the previous story! I tried to incorporate as many suggestions of your suggestions as I could! I hope you like it!
> 
> EDIT:  
> Huge thank you to everyone who commented! Thanks, thanks, thanks, over and over! <3
> 
> EDIT number 2:  
> A quick plug here for a FANTASTIC photographer. No velociraptors in these photos, but I think their relevance to this fic will be immediately clear. Click on his fire portfolios for pictures of firefighters and Bambi buckets in action.  
> http://www.sullivanphotography.org


	15. News!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raptor's Role-Play!

I've got exciting news for people who have read this story and liked it!

I've had an offer from CounterKlock to put together a role-play game around this trilogy and the idea of velociraptors living in the rainforest. We're still in very, _very_ early talks about it, so we're trying to get a sense of how many people might be interested in playing along.

If you think you might be interested in running around in the forest with the Pack, drop a line in the comments.

 

Edit: 

Well, that settles it, we're going ahead with it!

So far the game is called Song of the Pack, and it's going to be a text-based RP, expanding on the world of the Pack as we go and telling all-new stories.  We've also got a Discord channel called Raptors in the Rainforest up and running already,  for anyone who wants to chat with us.  [https://discord.gg/FdaTq  ](https://discord.gg/FdaTq)Super exciting to be starting on this journey with you all, and the raptors! 

Edit 2:  Let's try this again... I've set this one to not expire. 

Edit 3: https://discord.gg/AMXacJP

Edit 4 https://discord.gg/zDAVZ

[Edit 5  https://discord.gg/P3nXJ](https://discord.gg/P3nXJ) and if this one doesn't work, you'll just have to send me a pigeon. 

-Disa


End file.
